Postcards
by LapizLasuli
Summary: Like Caribbean sands through a crystal blue hourglass, so are these days of their lives. Some wait, some get on with their lives, all of them enjoy the now. Michael, Sara, Lincoln, LJ, Sucre, Maricruz, Jane. General, humour, romance, fluff. Post-Sona.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Postcards  
**Characters:** Michael, Sara, Lincoln, LJ, Sucre, Maricruz, Jane.  
**Summary:** Like Caribbean sands through a crystal blue hourglass, so are these days of their lives. Some are waiting, some are getting on with their lives, all of them are enjoying the now.  
**Genre:** General, humour, romance, fluff. Post-Sona.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Prison Break? Not mine.

_"I just want my brother's life back. I want people to know the truth.  
I'd give anything for that. I'd lay down my life."_

Well, his brother did get his life back - sort of. People did find out the truth - for the most part. And Michael did give up a lot for it to happen - but not his life. Nor did any of his loved ones.

Yes, they're aliiive, with all body parts present and correct. Well. Minus here a toe, there a toe.

Each chapter is a snippet or glimpse - a 'postcard' - of Michael's, Sara's and Lincoln's lives in Panama, and their friends and family who come and go. Although, they're quite episodic, the chapters don't skip around and events happen pretty much chronologically.

NB - This actually started life as a series, but as each new entry drew more and more on the preceding ones, I realised the whole thing would probably read better as just one long story. There are a few changes, but should you read this and think it sounds a bit familiar, probably find you might have read it as part of the original series.

* * *

**Chapter 1:** Threads  
**Features:** Michael  
**Summary:** What we want, and what we have. He ponders...

Perhaps it was a result of his upbringing. A love born from lack rather than plenty.

He slid his legs across the mattress, encountering the expected. Coarse, rough, slightly stiff. Not the longed for. Cool, smooth, soft. Linc had called his love wussy. Well, actually, not so much his love. _Him_. And, to be honest, he'd said pussy.

But, hey, they were his memories, and he liked to edit them for the better.

They say you always remember your first. He had scoffed when he'd heard that. He'd scoffed at a lot, back then. Michael Scoffield. First what, exactly?

Well, he would discover, anything that leaves an impression. Is momentous. Significant. Life changing. And the amazing, yet sad, thing is that you might not recognise an occasion as such while it's happening. But your subconscious will. And when you're ready to grasp the significance, it's there. Stored for you. Safe. Shining. A moment in time. But with it, the sadness. Because you didn't realise it as it happened. Because you'd have held on tightly, if you did. Absorbed it into your skin, your cells. Until every second of that first was a part of you.

Vee. So appropriate. One of them. Deeply woven into the fabric of their lives. She'd introduced him to it. Taken him by the hand and led him to the bed. Pulled back the covers and started stroking, stroking.

_"Feel, Michael. Just feel."  
"Vee, I don't think we should be doing this! It's really- "  
"Please, Michael, for me? You're not like Linc - I know you're not. He really doesn't care, doesn't think it's important... Please, Mike. For me. Here - just take my hand."_

And that was it. Game over. He'd sunk to the bed in delight. Nerve endings dancing with pleasure.

_"See? This is how it could be. How it should feel. And you could have this. Always. It's what I want for you, Mike. You deserve it. Can you feel it? Do you- do you _see_ it?"  
_

Oh, yes. He had. Every single, tightly woven, interlocked thread. 800 count, Egyptian cotton sheets. Love.

Vee, laughing. Dragging him off the bed, as the store's floor manager watched them suspiciously. Dismissively. Until it had been time to pay. Julia Roberts? Bite me. Pretty _Man_...

He'd chosen, since, not to sleep on anything less. There was simply nothing he loved to feel more against his skin. Except warm, soft, silky, female flesh. The two together? Bliss.

Life in prison? God, _hell_.

He stirred, cheek brushing against soft, silky warmth.

Life in exile? Definite improvement. He grinned sleepily.

"Well. That's some smile - pleasant thoughts?"

"Mmmmmph... memories. Vee and cotton sheets... "

Oh. Crap.

Night on the floor? Dusty.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:** Lessons**  
Features:** Michael and Sara**  
Summary:** Lessons _can_ be fun, especially if you're the teacher's pet.

* * *

He nuzzled his way across her face, tongue occasionally darting to taste creamy, silky skin.

"Lift," he demanded, then moaned. "Oooh, that's very- but, no, I meant your chin."

"What's this?" His fingers stroked the base of her throat.

"It's known as the suprasternal notch," she sighed, eyes drifting closed as she felt the brush of his hair under her chin.

"Hello, we haven't been formally introduced. I'm Michael - welcome to my world." Courtesies observed, he gently kissed then licked his new friend, savouring the salty tang.

"Are you planning to introduce yourself to all my parts? If so, you're a bit late for-"

"Only the ones I haven't really met before."

" -several of them- Wait, what? _Met?_ You'd really call that meeting? Try gate crashing, unauthorised entry," she offered. "Armed and- "

"Unauthorised?" he snorted. "Armed?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure there was a loaded something around," she teased. "Might've even gone off once or twice."

"Really? Try… wait," he paused, eyes closed, lips curling in remembrance. "Three- no, four- Okay, three and a half."

"So cocky," she mocked.

"Kind of a requisite," he smirked, returning to the meat and greet.

She grinned, feeling warm lips at her chest, followed by another swift dab and introduction. "Hi, Sternum. I just met your neighbour up the road - Notch. Very nice, but you _definitely_ win on location," he whispered, before resting his face between her breasts.

"Three and a half," she mused. "I guess that explains the nuclear family. You know, Dad, Mom, 2.5 kids? I always wondered about little 0.5. Wondered how he came to be. I mean, if they were _nuclear_ nuclear families, you could put him down to mutation. But, no, seems poor little 0.5 is just a result of Daddy going off half-cocked..."

"Sara."

She looked up, into gleaming blue… no, grey… no, green - right now, gleaming green eyes. He was up and over, resting on his elbows, a rapt look on his face.

"You're _rambling_."

She felt her cheeks redden. "Sorry- "

"Oh, no, don't be embarrassed, please - god, I love it!" he breathed, and swooped down for a deep, lush, ravening kiss. "What's that?" he suddenly broke off, staring fixedly at her parted lips. "I know it, I just can't remember."

She blinked, brain still parked in ravening.

"You know - at the back of the throat?" He pointed at his own with one long finger, waggling it back and forth. "_That_ thing?"

"Oh, the uvula."

"Yes, that's it. U-vu-la," he purred, drawing out each syllable. He lowered his head, again, a wicked smile on his lips.

"Don't even _think_ about it - you'll make me gag!"

"Oh, now, Sara," he reproached. "We both know you've got great gag control- "

"Michael, I can't believe you just said that!"

"What? You do..." He feigned innocent bewilderment, dropping a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth. "I won't, I won't! Promise."

She cupped his head in her hands, anyway, keeping a firm grip as he whispered against her upper throat.

"Hi, U, I'm Michael - you'll be seeing a lot of me. A _lot_. We might end up Best Friends Forever. And, we have met before. Kind of. Very informally... You probably don't recognise me from this angle- "

"Stop."

"Unusual name, U-vu-la," he drawled, "Certainly flows off the tongue. I wonder," he glanced over his shoulder, gaze drifting and lingering down her body. "You wouldn't happen to be sisters, maybe first cousins, with- OW!" He felt his head pulled back, and a hand clamp over his mouth.

"No. More. Introductions. Understood?" she glared.

He nodded quickly, wrapping a hand around her wrist. She loosened her grip, fingers gently stroking his mouth, caressing that scar she would ask him about one day.

Keeping hold of her hand, he rolled to the side. "Can we continue my anatomy lesson, Dr Tancredi?" he asked, head propped on fist, "I'll be good. Promise..."

Her fingertips felt the vibrations of his words, but her forearm their intent, as his fingers grazed its soft underside with excruciating gentleness. She was transported back to their infirmary visits, and she knew that, whatever else happened, she could go to her grave proud of the way she'd maintained her composure and professional integrity. Except for that once. Okay, twice.

Theirs eyes locked. His were slumberous, lambent - and other words she'd never used till meeting him. Forget proud, she should be buried with a damned medal for not wantonly abandoning her post. And for duty above and beyond. Two medals. Tattooed to her chest.

"I'd prefer it if you just behaved," she finally answered.

He grinned, fingers reaching their journey's end at her elbow. "Have you ever thought why 'funny-bone'? I guess it's from 'humerus', but really, could you get a more contradictory translation?"

Language fascinated him. The power, the structure of words. Each syllable an individual little unit with its own meaning. A building block, combining with its neighbour to create a new whole, with a new meaning, which in turn could combine with another and another. On and on. An endless Lego set of sounds and meanings. All working together, controlled by the physics of grammar - its known rules the gravity, transformational the dark matter hidden at its core.

"And then you have the complete opposite, don't you?" he mused. "Words that wear their meanings like neon signs. I know you've never been to Thailand- " he sent her a quick, anxious glance, and received a reassuring squeeze. "But, trust me, _Bangkok_? For a lot of visitors, it's the game of the name and they play it as they say it! I don't get bull pen, though - it's the pitchers' mound, not the bull mound, so why pen? And devil - evil with a d? The evil, de evil... maybe the Irish- "

"Michael?"

He stopped, closing his eyes and leaning his face down into her stroking hand.

"You're rambling," she whispered in his ear, feeling a shudder quake through him. "And class is over for today."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rolled, sending them sprawling onto his back. He was fully focused now, staring intently, his eyes all kinds of new words she'd have to learn.

"But you haven't been a good boy. Well, actually, yes, you have. Only in a bad way, so you have to stay after class. And, so that you can appreciate what a _difficult_ job it is, you're going to be teacher and give the lesson." She sat up, hands splayed across his inky alter egos. "But, Professor Scofield? I should warn you, you already have a problem. Because your class just wants to play."

He grasped her hips, settling them more firmly. "Licktionary?"

"NO!"

"Giddy-up Horsey? Wait, wait, I know... Suck the Well Dry- OW!"

* * *

For anybody who might be wondering, Suck the Well Dry really does exist - it's a card game - and no relation to Strip Poker!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: **Games**  
****Summary:** Sometimes, life is just a series of games...

* * *

They leant against the headboard, quietly gazing at the moon, its light strengthening with the deepening twilight.

"Ten moons..."

"I know we're both a bit sleep deprived, right now, but I'm still only seeing one," Sara murmured, tired amusement threading her voice. She glanced at Michael, then followed his gaze down to their interlocked fingers. "Oh. How come- "

"Trivial Pursuit."

"Trivial Pursuit?"

"Yeah, you know, the game?"

"Yes, of course, I know - and?"

"It's one of the questions - well, and the answer, really..."

"Oh, no, you don't remember all of them? _Do_ you?"

"No! Well...not _all_, and not deliberately. Some just seemed to, well, stick. We use to play it quite a lot, the three of us - me, Vee and Linc - until they- "

"Got sick of you winning? You did, didn't you?"

How was it possible to look smug and embarrassed at the same time? She twisted to her side, nestling her head in the crook of his neck.

"Sometimes, it's nice to win, Sara," he spoke softly, then stopped. "At the Game of Life."

Her eyes had closed with his first, melancholic words, but at that she leant her head back to stare, only to meet bland innocence. Ah. A challenge.

She tucked her head back, and stroked her thumb across his knuckles. "You're right, Michael, it is. As long as the winning is fairly earned, and no one person or thing has a Monopoly on it."

Ah. Challenge accepted. Game on. "Yes, absolutely. If it's always the same people, same result, you just start to feel like a helpless pawn on a Chess board."

"True. And that may lead to schisms, which can become harder and harder to Bridge."

Okay, tactical change needed. He remained silent, thinking of brick walls, patiently waiting for her to look. She finally did, meeting his blank expression. "Do you like my Poker face?"

Fine, then. Change the tone. "Not bad," she conceded. "I used to play that, sometimes. To relax. Before I'd have to perform an Operation."

Silence.

"But, you know what my favourite game was when I was young? Me and the maid's son would play it. Doctors and Nurses, " she husked in his ear, with a slight smirk. Michael was right, sometimes winning _is_ nice.

Whoa, damage control! Think, think... "What's the square root of 100?" Thank you, Second Wind.

Grinning, she just hitched her leg high over his hip.

Yeah, Second Wind? Blow me. Tank. Game over...

* * *

"Michael? Sara?" Linc roared, banging his fist on the door.

They poked startled heads out from under the sheet. Staring at their flimsy door, Michael cleared his throat, "Yeah, Linc? Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem. Just checking...making sure you're still, you know, alive. All this _resting_ - kinda late to still be siesta! We're playing cards - wanna join us?"

Michael tried to stifle Sara's laughter. "All of you? Maricruz, too? What's the game?"

"Suck the Well Dry," Linc intoned mournfully, then listened to raucous giggles he really, really hoped weren't his brother's.

"Uh, thanks, but we've just been playing that."

"Aw, _Christ_!" muttered Linc, grimacing, before turning away. "Why the hell couldn't we have picked 500? Even Old friggin' Maid?" Walking back to the others, he yelled out, "Guys? Hey, guys, I don't wanna play that any more. How 'bout, I dunno...Pictionary?"

He slowed to a stop. Okay, now _that_ laughter? Definitely Michael's. And, god, was it good to hear. For whatever reason he was pretty goddamn' sure he did _not_ wanna know about.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: **Being**  
****Summary:** Walking and talking, drinking and thinking.**  
**

* * *

"Does Sara know?" Linc asked idly, waiting for Michael to catch up.

Michael finished his farewells with Señora Duarte. "Know what?" He waved at Juanita and smiled at her grandmother.

His brother waved his arm expansively. "About them. All of them - your harem."

Michael laughed. "I just help them out here and there. And they help me with my Spanish. Anyway," he finished, "I have it on good authority that she's not a jealous woman."

"Yeah, right... Bet you never thought she'd kill anybody, either! Help out how?"

"Oh, you know the kind of thing - odd jobs, bit of muscle power. Stuff right up your alley, actually." He threw Linc a sidelong look, smiling at the open, flapping shirt. "You could lend a hand - never know, might score yourself some pleasant company."

"Nuh uh. Wouldn't wanna get them _too_ excited - women around me _are_ jealous." He smiled benignly. "And thanks, baby bro, but really... _me_ needing _your_ help with the ladies?" He shook his head, sadly.

"Yeah... So, heard from Jane lately?"

"Fuck off."

Laughing, Michael dodged a sideways punch, and strolled into the taverna. Jiggling the loose change in his pockets, he threw Linc an enquiring glance, only to meet a disgruntled glare.

"Aw, gee, Mike, I dunno - strawberry daiquiri?" Point made, he stalked off to the old jukebox in the corner, slapping several backs in greeting along the way.

Michael strolled over to the bar, still grinning. "_¡Hola, José ¿Cómo está?_" He leant sideways against the counter, surveying the smoke-hazed room. Only 11:30 and the usual suspects already present and correct.

"_Hola, Señor Miguel - muy bien. ¿Y usted?_"

"_También. Pero, José - no 'señor' Miguel, solo 'Miguel'_, _por favor._" He knew that wasn't right, but close enough. (1)

"_¿Solamente 'Miguel'?_" José gently corrected. "_Algún día, quizás. ¿Cerveza?_" he asked, already reaching for Linc's icy brand. "_¿Usted también, o quiere otra cosa?_" (2)

_Otra cosa? _Oh, yes. He wanted something else. He glanced up at the top shelf. But what he wanted, he couldn't have. Not now. This life half lived? Easier if it was also a life half remembered.

José plonked the frosted bottle on the counter, and followed Michael's gaze upwards. "_Lo siento, señor,_" he shook his head sadly. "_No es posible, ahorita._" (3)

"_Sí, lo se. Es bien-_ " he stopped. Damn, he thought, Hamlet had it wrong - it definitely _was_ 'to be', but which one? "_Está bien. Me gusta la cervez... _" The rest of his words were drowned out. (4)

"PANAMA! PANAMA-A-A-A-A-A-A...!"

"LINC!" he yelled, as his brother started into the rest of the chorus, head nodding to the familiar thumping beat.

Linc looked up, a huge grin on his face. "WHAT?" he yelled back, raising his hand to catch the bottle flying towards him.

"PLEASE, SOMETHING ELSE! SOMETHING..._NEW_!"

Linc smiled and nodded, as the brothers raised their beers in silent salute.

Yes. _Otra cosa_? Maybe. Again. One day. But for now? He'd settle for _cosa nueva_. (5)

* * *

1) Me, too. But, José - not 'Mr' Michael, only 'Michael', please.  
2) Just 'Michael'? ... One day, maybe. Beer? ... You, too, or do you want something else?  
3) I'm sorry, sir. It's not possible, right now.  
4) Yes, I know. It's good- ... It's okay. I like beer-  
5) Otra cosa Something else. Cosa nueva something new.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: **Cookies**  
****Summary:** Who's the tougher?

* * *

Linc watched, wondering which bead would reach its destination first, the condensation running down his beer or the sweat running down his calf. _'Beer, beer!'_' he silently chanted, _'Yes, beer wins every time! Had a smoother ride,' _he admitted._ 'Oh, man, this has gotta stop - cheering on friggin' liquids? I used to diss cochroach racers, for Chrissake!'_

He rolled the bottle along his calf, mixing the cool moisture off his favourite nectar with the salty fluid off his body._ 'Oh, no! No, no, no. Don't think moisture...mixing...bodily fluids...don't! Oh, Vee',_ he silently mourned. _'Jane, where the hell are you?'_ he bitched. _'Shit, Miss Right Now? Anybody?'_

He snatched the bottle to his mouth and glanced at Michael, meeting his narrowed, intense gaze. Damn, he hated being the focus of that stare - if he didn't know better, he'd swear his brother could read his thoughts.

"You'll find any number of Miss Right Nows in town, Linc." Michael paused, laughing at his brother's stunned, open-mouthed look. "You really need to think more quietly." He waited, noticing the defensive hunch to Linc's shoulders, his sudden concentration on the beer label. "Vee would understand, Linc," he continued, more gently. "Hell, she knew you better than anyone did. She forgave you when she was alive. And she loved you for who you were. Don't insult her memory - and torture us - by trying to turn yourself into some martyr she wouldn't recognise. Or want to know."

Silence.

"As for Jane? Now Jane, I don't know about," he continued. "But from what I've observed? She's scary. I wouldn't do anything without her written, signed consent..." He grinned as Linc chuckled.

"You know what my first words to her were?" asked Linc. "Nah, neither do I," he continued when Michael shook his head. "Could've been: 'who the fuck are you?', 'who do you work for?', 'wipe your nose before you get blood everywhere'..." At his brother's puzzled look, he explained, "I'd head-butted her."

"You _head-butted_ her?" Michael asked, appalled. "You head-butted _Jane_? Why- I- Where was Dad?"

"Not there," Linc stated, wryly. "And she never said a word to him about it. She's hardcore," he smiled, smugly proud.

Michael nodded. "So is Sara." He concentrated on the lapping waves, as he explained in detail: the torture, the escapes. Every grim, painful thing Sara had been through since meeting them.

"Yeah, she's a tough cookie, but, seriously? Shrugging off one of _my_ head-butts?" Linc asked. "Don't see Doc picking herself up after one of _those_- "

"Wait, you're turning this into a contest?" Michael interrupted, outraged. "Well then, let's put things into perspective," he continued, immediately getting into the swing of things. "_Sara_ is not an operative - she isn't trained for combat, armed or otherwise. That garroting? Self-taught. Same thing when it comes to withstanding pain - that cut she stitched was damned near an inch and-"

"Oh, please, Mike! She's used to needles! She's a junk-"

_WHUMP!_

"Oh, god, what are they doing now?" Jane asked, warily.

Sara moved a couple of feet closer still, her approach muffled by the sand. "Michael just pushed Linc over - I think because he said I'd be used to needles, being a junkie. Or something..." she sighed. "You know, this thing you gave me?"

"Electronic surveillance device?"

"Whatever - it's crap out here. Anyway, I can't believe they're arguing about which one of us is tougher."

"I know - men!" Jane huffed into the phone. "At least, their argument has merit this time!"

"Oh, yes, and their excuses should be fun. The BS brothers..." Her chuckle cut off abruptly, replaced by a gasp.

"Sara? What's going on? What's happened?"

"Nothing, it's okay... Sorry, just panicked for a sec. Michael took a huge swing at him, but Linc dodged it," she explained, relieved.

Jane snorted. "Hell, don't worry about him! I mean, Michael's no lightweight, but, really, Linc-"

"_Linc_?! Oh, god, no - you don't understand. I know Michael's pretty big. Really. So are his _hands_. I love them. Big, beautiful hands...with long, slender, supple fingers. I _really_ love his fingers. They mustn't be damaged," she finished, earnestly.

"Oh, riiight...I see. Yes, I'm familiar with Michael's han- I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Uh, no...must've been the wind. Told you this thing's crap. Anyway, the Buying Burrito Brothers have settled down, so I'm heading back. Sure you don't want me to tell Linc you'll be coming down?"

"Positive - let the bastard suffer. Miss Right Now! But tell Michael, if you want."

"Yes, then _he_ can suffer in silence listening to Free Willie bitch and moan."

"Sara, before you go - what are you?"

"What am- ? Oh, yeah...ummm...Ginger Snap. You?"

"Lemon Tart."

"Hard core."

"Iron lady."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:** Names**  
****Summary:** The perils of thinking before speaking.

* * *

Michael snuggled up closely, head resting on Sara's stomach. Carefully placing his glass down by her hip, he dipped a finger into the cool liquid and drew a line across her belly, his tongue following closely behind. He savoured the flavours - tequila, salt, a slight undertone of...lavender?...and pure essence of Sara.

He felt her slight shiver and turned his head, still resting on her. He looked up, gaze traveling across dip and valley, up between his favourite mountain range. Fuji and Etna. Should he tell her he'd named them? No, better not. A lot of women didn't get the whole naming of body parts thing, seemed to find it stupid. Which it was - kind of - but it wasn't as if _every_ part got named, just the...interesting ones. The _fun_ ones. Like Fuji and Etna. The ones that tended to have a life of their own.

God knows, Mikey Jr did. Sometimes. Not that Michael didn't have control over him - hell, no! Not since his teenage years had he been led around by his- _him_. But, sometimes, he did get _unruly_ - liked to announce his presence with authority. Quite often and quite a lot, lately. At least, _he'd_ never been stupid enough to actually refer to Mikey by name in front of any of his girlfriends. Unlike his brother. He could still hear Vee's mocking tones after Linc had made _that_ mistake... Made worse by the name itself. Rock. As in cock of. _Very_ mocking...

Going by his criteria, he supposed his hands qualified for names - hell, they were uncontrollable, always wanting to talk, and now, around Sara, touch. He'd learnt, by his teens, to keep them imprisoned in his pockets. He'd also quickly learnt to ignore all the crude jibes which followed: handball, pocket billiards, putting practice... Now and then, when goaded enough, he'd freed his hands, trusting them to speak where words wouldn't do, and watched smugly as they'd release into a one-fingered salute. It had been worth the occasional black eye.

God, boys could be mean little bastards. If he ever had kids, he wanted only girls. They were so much nicer, he decided, forgetting Vee's tearful, scary tales of school torment. Best of all, girls grew into women, and he did love those.

He dropped a kiss onto silky skin, and...froze. Imagined some sex-mad, degenerate, filthy, lowlife scum getting his hands on their daughter. _Christ_, men were a disgusting, self-serving bunch - he should know, and he was one of the good ones. No, he couldn't _ever_ have a daughter - couldn't do it. He'd never rest, would die an early death from worry and stress - thrombosis, stroke, heart attack. Probably end up back in jail, only this time for murder or serious assault. Is this how _all_ fathers felt? My God, is this what _Sara's_ father went through? Poor Frontier Justice. Poor, poor Frank. Ah, well. At least, he was getting some rest now. And his daughter was with one of the good guys.

"Michael? What's wrong? You seem- "

"Your father - I was just thinking of your father."

"Dad? Oh, _Michael_. Why would you be feeling upset for my- "

"He had you for a daughter- "

Crap. He really needed to stop thinking so much. Or, rather, thinking and talking. And where were his hands when he'd needed them? Oh. Right. Not surprising they'd made no effort to move.

"How's the view?"

"Nice. Really pleasant, thanks. Floor could use a sweeping, though."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:** Previously**  
****Summary:** For Michael, the past is the past, but some things he misses.**  
A/N:** Scenes in _italics_ occur in the past.

* * *

José reached up and took down the bottle. He knew it wasn't what Señor Miguel really wanted, but maybe - just maybe - today it would be good enough. He would see.

Turning back to the counter, Michael found José returned, long-necked bottle in his hand, looking pleased, yet, apologetic.

Michael had been trying, lately, to compartmentalise his life and memories. Remember every last detail, dredge up every single memory - inspect and analyse each one, then lock them away. Into neatly labelled, little boxes - five, so far: Previously, Fox River, The Escape, Sona, and Now, the only one open. The third and fourth were encased in concrete, sunk to the depths to the best of his mind's ability. The second was tightly sealed and tucked away, and the first... well. He knew it was neither practical nor sensible - could make his present harder - but, the most he'd been able to do was keep its lid lightly duct taped. So, occasionally, things would escape. Now, for instance...

Glancing at the bottle's label, Michael grinned. Ah, what would she say?

_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --  
_

_"So, what's it going to be?"_

_"I- um-" he hesitated, looking at the huge selection, knowing next to nothing about them._

_She noticed the direction of his gaze, and gave him a big smile. "Ah, not the usual? Something new? Smooth and mellow? Rough and ready?"_

_Michael zoned out on any possible meaning, honed in on just the sound. "Uh...yes?"_

_She grinned and patted his hand. "Don't worry, doo-doo, we'll find something."_

_"I'm sorry, did you just call me...crap?"_

_"Oh, shite, sorry! Forgot - just an expression-" She broke off, uncertain, until she noticed his grin, and smiled in return. "I'm Laurian."_

_"I'm Michael."_

_"So, I've heard." She saw his enquiring look. "Smooth, long streak of pipe water like you gets noticed. Specially with that lot of yard fowl," she explained, cutting her eye at his colleagues. "So, what are you celebrating that your usual's not good enough anymore? And what will be?"_

_"I just clinched a large contract for the firm, and I'll be heading the project. First time." He looked up, a bit shy. "Just thought I'd treat myself to something...different. Nice. Mark the occasion."_

_"Uh huh... Grain? Grape?" She leant in slightly, whispered, "Sugar?"_

_Sugar? Oh, he was always up for a bit of sugar, but... "Rum? Uh, not really a big fan..." He trailed off, noting her expression. Oh, crap, was rum her national drink?_

_"Oh, no, let me guess... Bacardi White, Captain Morgan, Coruba? Good for cooking. I mean the real stuff - the kind you would only dilute with a splash of water, soda or icy rocks." Smiling at his skeptical look, she reached up to the middle shelf. "Okay, okay, we'll start nice n' slow. Appletons - Jamaican, but still very good - and I'd suggest Canada Dry or 7Up."_

_"Well, I like ginger..."_

He could still taste the dry snap of the ginger, the mellow tang of the rum... remember its aroma.

_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_

_"Where exactly are you from?" he finally asked, a few Fridays later, unable to pinpoint the accent._

_"Barbados."_

_"Really? But- ? You're not- "_

He still squirmed thinking about it now...

_She rolled her eyes, and laughed. "Black? Dark? Maybe not, but a lot in my family are!" She stopped, taking pity on his embarrassment. "Don't worry, Michael, happens all the time!"_

_"I'm sorry, that was rude. And to assume you can't be- "_

_"Nuff said." She waved a dismissive hand. "Except for the sand, people don't tend to think white when they hear West Indies - not what they're used to seeing - so, they assume and generalise. We all do that, about so many things. Human nature, nuh?"_

_"Is it what you really believe?"_

_"Yes, I think so. Look at you, sitting here at a fancy bar, wearing a nice suit, expensive gold watch - must mean you're successful, probably well-educated, a good family, perfect life - is that who you are?"_

_He sat, staring at his new Rolex. If only._

_"Or is that who you want people to think you are? Because they probably will."_

_"So, you're saying you can make people believe what _you_ want them to believe?"_

_"No. I'm saying that, if people don't have any reason to suspect or think that you are lying to them, then... they will likely believe you. Why wouldn't they? And, if what they believe happens to be what you _want _them to believe, well..."_

He remembered that. Frequently.

_"Okay, next time, a real Bajan punch."_

_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_

_"I've warned you, Michael - take it slooowly. Don't think because you've tried it a couple of times, you know how to handle it. Goes down sweet, but kicks like a bloody mule - you'll wake up feeling like a- "_

_"Phffft!"_

_An hour and four glasses later, she helped him into a taxi, trying not to smile as he awkwardly wound down the window, and bumped his head leaning out._

_"Laurian?"_

_"Yes, Michael?"_

_"My teeth are numb."_

_"That's just the beginning!"_

_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_

So it had continued, every Friday, for months. A gradual meandering along the shelves... Mount Gay, Appletons, Bacardi Gold, Pampero, Cacique, Santa Teresa, Senador... until they'd reached the very top. The Rumble on the Rocks. He'd fought hard to stay on the middle shelf, not ready to unmix it with the big boys. Preferring his punch drunk rounds with Mount Gay.

He'd wondered which of the high flyers he'd get.

_"Breaks my little Bajan heart - we invented the stuff - but I have to go with..." She revealed a small leather-pouched bottle, emblazoned with the words 'Pampero Anniversario'._

_"Hi, guys. One for me?" Much to Michael's amusement, his friend, Richard, had been allowed to join them - on occasion._

_"No," she replied, clinking ice into two small tumblers._

_The men grinned - Rick was just winding up to tease her, when he caught her look. Shrugging, he slowly retreated, rolling his eyes at Michael._

_"You know, he really likes you. Why aren't you nicer- "_

_"Don't start... Now," she continued, "try this! And treat it with respect - like you would a single malt."_

_"I hate scotch."_

_"Shut up, do. And, remember, take it slo- "_

_"Uh huh." He tilted the glass, gazing at the neat, golden liquid through the refracted light off cut glass and cubes. "Live long and prosper!"_

_"You really are a nerd, aren't you?" she sighed._

_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_

She hadn't been on duty That Night. He wondered, sometimes, how things would have turned out if she had been there. Would he have unloaded onto her his disastrous meeting with Linc, the brother he'd never told her about? Would he have gone home with Vee? Would he have answered his phone? He suspected it would have made no difference, simply delayed the inevitable.

She was there all the many months afterwards. Through the birth of The Plan - its inception and implementation. Every Friday that he'd shown up. Conversation and company, Pampero on tap - a little oasis of rituals in a life he had been slowly turning upside down.

His increasing introspection, the lengthening silences, hadn't gone unnoticed. He'd look up from a bout of calculations to spy her and Rick deep in speculative conversation - but, after the first futile attempts, they didn't ask, not about his moods, nor his new predilection for long sleeves, regardless of temperature.

The Night Before The Day, he'd made sure he was the last to leave work. Hiding in his office, he'd avoided most of the nightly farewells - including Rick's - and quietly and calmly let go of his professional life. On his last stop at the bar, he'd felt a cowardly relief at finding her away again- another goodbye he wouldn't have to disguise in casualness. He'd toyed with the idea of leaving them both a note, but didn't - the less that might link him to them, the better.

_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_

They'd been on his mind, lately - his friends. He knew Linc would check for him, but he didn't like to ask - it wasn't his brother's usual stomping ground. It was Sara's, however, and he _had_ asked, but not recently. No, he'd asked her then... Chicago, the key, the escape. Stupid, dangerous. Crazy. She'd realised that, and wisely done nothing - and neither of them had mentioned it, again.

He reached for the bottle José had left on the counter. Ah, Bacardi White, the Coke of rums. Sorry, Laurian, but when life hands you lemons...

"Thought you didn't like that label," Sara remarked quietly.

Michael looked over, startled, to find her gazing at the unopened bottle, a strange expression on her face. "Uh, no, not really. Where are you off to?"

"Checking up on the clinic - want to come?"

"Admit it, you just want me for my translating skills..."

"Oh, please. You could acquire a harem the size of a sultan's, and my Spanish would still be better than yours." And she proceeded to have a quick chat with José.

"Show off..."

"Jealous. So, you want to? Or are you going to join Linc & The Dominoes?" She grinned and nodded towards his brother, engrossed in a noisy round of the game.

"No, I never really liked it."

"Really never liked it, or didn't like it like you never really liked rum?" She shook her head at his bland expression. "You always won, didn't you?"

"No, honestly, I've only played a few times in my life. And Linc always seemed to win - he's a very good player. Just not my game," he shrugged.

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Oh, I bet it is - despite Linc always _seeming_ to win..."

"You're not implying that I'd let my big brother win?" he asked, mildly. "No, no, that's instant dismissal from the secret Little Brother League."

"Never heard of it."

"That would be the secret part."

"Are you pulling my leg?"

"Did you want to reciprocate? You could- "

"Are you trying to annoy me?"

"I'm offended at the word trying."

"Oh, god, let's go, if you're coming..."

They called out to Linc, before Michael followed Sara out. "Wow. 'Let's go, if you're coming'. That's quite an Irishism or oxymoron-"

"I know what an oxymoron is, Michael - I even know what an ox and a moron are. Probably because I live with an ox y a moron..."

Linc watched them leave, grinning at their gentle squabbling. He'd never tell, but he liked listening to them when they were in full flight, scrambling to have the Last Word.

He returned to his game, slapping down tiles till he won - again. Huh. Probably time he threw a couple of games, or the guys would stop playing with him. And he didn't want that. He'd have to play with Mike. And neither of them wanted that. After all, he knew how his brother hated dominoes like he hated rum.

_-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --_

_She walked into the hotel, head tucked down slightly, trying to blend in as much as her casual clothes would allow. She must be crazy! Michael and his favours - he really was the limit, sometimes... Ten minutes, then she'd go._

_Sara sat down at the bar. Female bartender - good start._

_"So, what can I get you?"_

_Even better - it was her. "Rum punch, please."_

_"No problem. I'll just get some lem- "_

_"With lime, please. And Mount Gay." She stared into wary eyes, received a thorough, searching look in return._

_"Okay." The bartender started mixing. "You seem to know your stuff..."_

_Sara shrugged. "Somebody else does - just trusting what they tell me."_

_"That so? Well, someone knew what they were talking about."_

_"They still do. Or like to think so..."_

_"Here you go. I'd advise you to- "_

_"Drink it slowly?"_

_"Yes. Excuse me, I'll be at the other end of the bar, if you need anything."_

_Sara took a cautious sip, and watched as - Laura? Lianne? - made some notes, then walked back over._

_"Sorry, I forgot to give you some of these." She casually slid over a couple of folded napkins._

_Sara noticed the flash of light off her finger. "Happy?" she asked, pointing to the ring._

_"Very." She smiled, then continued, slowly. "There are...unexpected rewards to being... nice."_

_"Yes, there are." Smiling, Sara got up, and searched her pockets for some money._

_"On the house. Are you - or your friend - likely to be in again?"_

_"Hard to say. If it's possible, we will be."_

_She nodded and smiled. "I hope so. Take care, do."_

_Sara smiled in return, and left. As she made her way to the cemetery, she unfolded the napkins she'd pocketed. On one there were a couple of phone numbers, and on the other... what? A rhyme? Well, Michael could- Oh, wait, she knew what this was - a recipe. She grinned - well, who knows? One day... maybe..._

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:** Why?**  
****Summary:** The brothers have an overdue little chat. They don't really want to, but the elephant insists.

* * *

_'Christ, I think Mike knows.'_ Linc glanced at his brother, then looked away. _'Oh, yeah, he knows, but he's never gonna bring it up it. It's all my fault, anyway. So, we'll just keep on ignoring the giant friggin' elephant that's now following us everywhere. But not just any elephant - oh, no, this one's pink and wearing day-glow purple tights covered with those shiny, sparkly things, carrying an umbrella and singing Tip-toe Through the friggin' Tulips. Or, maybe, I just have heat-stroke... Fuck, it's hot!'_

"Take it off, Mike."

Michael ignored him, raising his beer for another sip. '_Oh, I don't think so. Not a kid, anymore, Linc - you don't get to tell me what to do.'_

"No, I'm good - fine, thanks."

Linc turned his head, his sickened gaze just catching the tail-end of another squirming. "Take. It. Off. Michael!" he growled, sparing him the most cursory of looks, glancing away swiftly from the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to that back, its inky shadows peeking through the dampness.

"No. Lincoln. I'm. Fine."

"God_damn_ it, Michael!" Linc felt his hands curling into fists, felt his heart and guts torn between wanting to pummel, hug, scream, mourn and weep with gratitude. Sadness. Anger. All at his brother. All for his brother.

Michael watched those hands. He knew his brother wasn't going to hit him - for one things, these days, he'd hit back, hard. _'Try to, anyway - probably still break my hand.'_ But, no, he knew Linc didn't want to hit him. Knew he was really raging against the dying of the light - they both were. A silent and mostly solitary grieving. _'And I'm tired of it. Tired of a lot of things. Just...tired. Fuck it.'_

"You can't stand to look at me, can you, Linc?"

His brother whirled around, a stricken look on his face.

"No- uh, no - you know what? Just- just forget I asked, okay?" Michael stammered, a painfully uncertain laugh escaping his tight throat. "No- Really. It's okay. I understand- " He stopped. '_Guess I'm not quite tired enough.'_

"Do you? Oh, I really fucking doubt it!" _'Michael knows, Michael knows.'_

"So, what are you telling me, then, Lincoln? That I have your permission to remove my shirt?"

"Why would you need my say-so?"

_'No, I'm not tired - I'm exhausted. It's slash and burn time, big brother, slash and burn.'_

"I used to wonder what people's reactions would be, you know. How they would look at me. I was...accustomed to being looked at in a certain manner. Women- " He paused, keeping his gaze on the sand below their feet. "I left my arms till last. It was still so warm... I wanted to enjoy- "

"Mike- "

"As the tattoo got bigger, I'd take short walks around my neighbourhood. My little world. Pass by familiar faces, imagine what their expressions would be if they could see under my shirt. Everything I wasn't used to: fear, distaste, disbelief, amazed horror. And revulsion. The one I most dreaded. To be looked at with revulsion... I expected it, I really did. I just didn't expect it from my own brother," he finished, quietly.

"_Michael!_"

"I know you don't mean to. I truly do. So, I try- I keep myself covered, so that you don't have to see it. And I don't have to see your look."

He felt his shoulders gripped tightly and shaken. Heard his name spoken in a broken whisper. Looked into eyes pooled with grief. And anger, so much anger.

Lincoln released Michael, and clutched his head, elbows resting on his knees. He was trembling with the urge to hit. Something. Anything. Until his hand bled or the thing broke. But not Michael, never Michael. Not his poor, finally mending brother. Who had given up so much - _everything_ - for him.

"How could you do it, Mike? How could you do - _that_ - to yourself? And give up...your whole _life_ - everything you worked so hard for? How- Why- Why for _me_? What did I ever do to deserve what you've done?"

"Linc- "

"You _maimed_ yourself, Michael! You disfigured _yourself_! Before others got in on the act! You will always carry, always..._wear_ what you did! Why? _Why?!_"

Lincoln's voice had been steadily rising from a harsh whisper. Michael looked up towards the deck, searching for the figure lounging in one of the chairs. Meeting Fernando's questioning gaze, he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, watched as his friend quietly got up and went inside.

"Lincoln?"

"You're right. I can't stand to look at you. Not with that thing showing. And I fucking hate myself for it."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So? Are we really going to do this?" Michael asked.

"What? Talk?"

"Yes."

"Never been much good at that, have we?"

"No. But I- "

"Think we should. Yeah. Questions?"

"Yeah. Probably easiest. One at a time?"

"Okay. Who goes first?"

"Same as always - age before beauty... "

"Bastard."

They both smiled slightly, before looking back down at their feet.

"Why? Why _did_ you do it? How could you even think for one second I'd want you to? Why did you think you had the right to throw away your life like that? For me? For _anyone_?"

"That's a lot of questions."

"Fuck off. Boils down to just one - why?"

Michael took a deep breath. "A few reasons. But, to start with...reciprocity."

"_Reciprocity?_ Fuck, Michael, you know I hate it when you say shit like that! I'm not gonna do this if you- "

"No, _you_ cut it out! You know how much it pisses me off when you pull the dumb brother routine - me _Linc,_ me the _stupid_ one, me no under_stand_! Stupid, my ass! Just easier to go through life with people cutting you slack because they believe you're a _moron_!"

Silence.

"I thought I was the ox," Linc said, mildly.

"_What- _" Michael looked over and noticed the slight smirk. "Oh, right... So you are. You _heard_."

"Yeah. But don't tell Doc."

"She'd be embarrassed... " Michael started smiling. "Actually, no, she'd say serves you right for eavesdropping!"

"Oh, _bro_, she says stuff like that?" At his brother's vigorous nod, they burst out laughing.

"Hello, boys... "

They scrambled to their feet, to find Sara and Jane walking towards them, an apologetic Sucre following closely.

"Sorry, papi, I tried to stop- " He trailed off under a pair of amused blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, Fernando, you were saying something about stopping?"

"Cut that shit out, Jane - you're not scaring anybody," Linc taunted.

Michael and Sucre quickly glanced away.

"Is everything okay?" Sara asked, voice laced with concern. "We heard shouting... "

"No, no, everything's good, fine. Right, Mike?"

Michael's eyes were resting on Sara, and noticed the swift look the women exchanged. _'Uh-oh.'_

"Michael?"

"Oh, yes, great. Everything's great. Just brothers talking. Sorry if we worried you."

"Okay, then - guess we'll head back. Talking seems to be the order of the day, all round."

Lincoln looked over at his brother, wondering if his own face reflected the same mild alarm. "We'll see you later, then."

"Yes, you will. Fernando, do you feel the need to escort us back? Make sure we don't lose our way?"

"No, no - anyway, I can't. Gotta find Maricruz."

"She's still inside. She's been with us for some time."

"Oh, okay." He shot the brothers a panicked look. "See you later, guys." And disappeared up the side, muttering in Spanish the whole way.

The brothers watched the women till they were inside.

"Did you see?"

"Yup. Should we be worried?"

"I'd say a slight concern is definitely called for."

Linc turned to Michael. "What did you used to call it?"

"Mrs Noah's Revenge."

"Yeah, that's right. Man, haven't seen it up close for a few years."

"No. And not a bathroom or kitchen in sight..."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, hands in pockets, looking up, down and all around - everywhere but at each other.

Lincoln finally cleared his throat. "You want to- " He waved his arm towards where they'd been sitting.

"Yeah, sure. If you want. Or we could leave just leave it for now, continue another day..."

"Yeah, yeah, we could - and we _will_. Carry on, I mean. It's important. But we got lots of time - and we've made a start, right?"

Michael smiled, "Yeah." He looked down, watching his feet scuffing the sandy deck like a ten year-old. "It's your week, but - need a hand scrubbing her down?"

Lincoln looked out towards the Christina Rose II. "Dude, you know what they say about all hands on deck! Ready now?"

Michael nodded and they set off towards the yacht.

"Mike, one thing." He stopped his brother, clamping a hand down hard on his shoulder. "Take off that friggin' shirt before I rip it off..."

"You're not touching it - I like this shirt!" And off it came.

'_Oh, it's just white now. And the tights have gone... and the umbrella. But it's still singing... Christ, I hate that song! Why couldn't it have been 'Thunder'? Or Dirty Deeds'? Or 'Sharp Dressed Man'? Or... fuck, _anything_ else? It must be heat-stroke...'_

"So, bro, if I'm the ox, guess that makes you the moron."

"You wish. _I'm_ not the one humming Tip-toe Through the Tulips. God, I _hate_ that song - cut it out!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Three pairs of eyes watched them heading down to the small jetty.

"Wow, you get to see that every night."

"Yup - score one for me..."

"Oh, more than one!"

"I've never seen the whole thing, before. It's... beautiful. Fernando just shrugs when I ask - says it part of Michael, but not who he is."

"Lincoln hates it. Though, I suspect, it's more what it represents."

They kept watching, saw the two men joined by a third.

"We shouldn't have gone down."

"No. Guess he was right."

"Course he was! Nando has brothers - he understands about all that..._stuff_."

"Yes. Don't have any sisters, though, do they... "

"Mmmm... "

They all smiled.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:** Needling**  
****Summary:** Déjà vu, déjà heard, déjà...done?  
**A/N:** Some dialogue taken from 1.15. _Translations_ at chapter's end.

* * *

"What- How? You have a cut on your butt!"

"You know, you had a much nicer bed-side manner at Fox River. You should probably work on- "

"Get on the bed!"

"Whoa, _much_ better! Delivery still a bit brusque - probably a C - but definitely an A for content."

_"Doctora?"_

_"Ah, sí, Elena - no necesitaré tu ayuda, gracias. ¿Sabes cuántos pacientes me esperan?_

_"Solamente dos, ninguno serio. ¿Quiere que les pida que regresen esta tarde? ¿O si quieren que el Doctor Ruiz los vea?_

_"Que regresen esta tarde, si quieren. Gracias, Elena. ¿Y si podrías decirles que lo siento mucho, pero mi marido tomará un poquito de mi tiempo? Es un gran bebé - el pobrecito siente mucho el dolor, y siempre llora cuando ve agujas!"1_

Elena left, giggling, Sara closing the door after her.

"How do I lie to thee? Let me count..."

"_About_ you, actually. And you understood all that? Congratulations! Been working the harem?"

Micahel gave a wicked chuckle. "Jealous?"

"Told you, I'm not- "

"Yes, I know. And I have a theory about that. It occurred to me that you haven't been the jealous type, because you've never had anybody worth being jealous _about_... "

She tried to keep a straight face, while sorting through needles. "Oh, and now I do? Conceited much?"

"Not at all. Simply basing my observation on what I know of your past partners - the dregs of humanity, as it were - and what they were like. Nothing to do- What's that needle?"

"Well, basing _my_ observation on what I'm holding in my hand and the content of _your_ question, I'm assuming that _it_ was rhetorical."

"That's a very big needle."

"Compared to what?"

"Every needle ever manufactured."

"You're not scared of needles, Michael."

"I know that, and, if I was, being a diabetic would've probably cured- "

"As opposed to the tattoo? And you weren't a diabetic!"

"Well, for a while, I might as well have been. You scarred my arms, by the way..."

"As opposed to the _tattoo_."

"It's prettier. Yours just make me look like a junk- " He stopped, closing his eyes. "Oh, god, Sara, I'm sorry! I didn't mean- "

Seeing his stricken expression, she sighed and leant in to reassure him.

"I am what I am, Michael, and we both know what that includes." She paused. "I suppose, though, this means you don't really look that much different to my other guys - you know, the dregs? Guess I still have nobody worthy of my jealousy..." She grinned, and patted his stubbled cheek, before drawing back.

His eyes flew open, flat with remorse. "No. You certainly don't."

"Michael, it's okay - really! Now, lose the jeans, and make yourself comfortable - on your stomach."

She waited and watched. Nothing. No chuckle. No innuendo. Nada. Great. "You know, Michael, I thought we'd agreed not to walk on egg shells around each other. To not have to watch every word we say. Assume honesty, accept trust... Sound familiar?"

He settled on the bed. "I'm trying, Sara. But I've been censoring myself for so long, it's...hard to let go. And I never want to hurt you, again, so what happens- "

"You _haven't_. And, trust me, Michael, you'll know if you ever do - I'll make sure of it. Okay?" At his nod, she gently pushed down on his shoulders. "Now, lie still. And relax. If you tense, it'll- "

"Wow! And I psyched myself up to hear _that_ kind of thing in prison..." He glanced over his shoulder, trying to see what she was doing. And looking for the needle. That big-ass one that was going nowhere near his.

"It still amazes me that you didn't," she muttered. "Lie _down_! I need to see how deep the cut is - it might need stitches. How did you say you did this?"

"I didn't. And if it does, you're not using _that_ needle. Anyway, the cut's small - I've had a lot worse. Why don't- "

"Will you shut up and let _me_ be the doctor?" She bent over, closely, fingers gently swabbing away the blood.

Pillowing his head on his arms, he twisted his upper body slightly, so he could watch her. Feel those gloved hands softly testing the area. Hovering, stroking, gently kneading. Crap. Mikey to Houston, we have lift off...

"Dr Tancredi, are you copping a feel?"

"I'm a doctor, Mr Scofield, conducting a neutral, unbiased examination."

"That's not an unbiased place your hand's on."

"No, it certainly is not. In fact, it's quite opinionated - head-strong, really. When it gets a rush of blood, I've seen it- "

"And I'm done. You win - just... be gentle with me."

"God, you're so easy - no challenge."

"What can I say? I'm not worthy - I bow to the bad girl who never finishes last."

She smirked, fingers absently stroking. "You are going to need a couple of stitches - given the, uh, location, it would take longer to heal with just butterfly stitches, possibly scar- "

"Does it matter? Nobody's going to see- "

"Excuse me? What am _I_ - chopped liver?" She scowled at the thought of more scarring, especially on that once pristine expanse. "Michael, you're not secretly scared of needles, are you?"

"They're not my favourite, but, no, I'm not scared of them. I just... focus on other things."

She quickly looked up. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Remember: doctor, patient, doctor, patient.

"At Fox River, it was you," he murmured, softly, eyes slumberous and gleaming. "Here, it will be you."

Oh, my... This wasn't the same, it wasn't. That had been Chicago, a burn, upper body, unshaven. This was Panama, a cut, lower body and, uh, stubble. Oh, yeah, world of difference. _Then_, she had wanted to stroke him - _now_, she...quickly moved her hand away and went to one of the supply cupboards.

"Michael, how did you get that cut?"

"This is the part where I don't answer you."

No, _completely_ different...

He knew she felt it. Recognised it. The setting, the circumstances. Fox River redux. What he wouldn't have given then for an uninterrupted, door-locked hour with Doc Tancredi. Even half an hour. Okay, fifteen minutes - _minimum_ - anything less would've just been...not long enough.

He looked around the room, taking in all the similarities, noticing the differences. Its windows, too, were barred, but this time by intricately scrolled wrought-iron. It was certainly a lot cheerier - freshly painted walls, colourful hangings - but still very obviously a doctor's clinic. He looked at the door, wondering. Returned his gaze to her and that familiar look of concentration as she prepared her tray, capable hands moving unerringly, white coat shifting and pulling slightly with each movement. Let his gaze linger, drifting down... up... across... around...

"Sara? I really think the crucial question is: stitches or butterflies, which are more flexible?"

_'License my roving hands, and let them go,  
__Before, behind, between, above, below.  
- John Donne, Elegy XX_

* * *

1  
"Oh, yes, Elena - I won't need your help, thanks. Do you know how many patients are waiting for me?"  
"Only two, neither of them serious. Would you like me to ask them to come back this afternoon? Or if they'd like Dr Ruiz to see them?"  
"For them to returen this afternoon, if they want to. Thanks, Elena. And could you tell them that I'm sorry, but my husband's going to take up a bit of my time? He's a big baby - poor thing's very sensitive to pain, and always cries when he sees needles!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:** Relativity**  
Summary:** Blood may be thicker than _water_, but up against beer?**  
**

* * *

Sara sat down beside LJ, dangling her legs over the side.

"Beer?" she asked, offering him the one in her right hand.

"I _am_ a minor, you know."

"Last I looked, this isn't the States, you aren't driving, and you're surrounded by adults. Well, technically. It's all relative..."

He grinned and raised the bottle. "_Salud, pesetas y amor!_"(1)

"Guess I must be a lucky girl - I've got all three!" She leant back on one hand. "So, tell me about your Uncle Mike..."

"Uncle Mike?" he repeated, coolly.

And there it was... The family trait - strongest in Michael, but present in all. The Smirks.

"Yeah, you know - tall, dark and brainy? Handsome, even-tempered martyr? Oh, god," she groaned, lying back, "I wake up every morning next to him, and he still ends up sounding like a figment of my imagination."

"You forgot patient and kind."

"Shut up, you - leave me _some_ dignity- "

"Can't run for crap, not the first you'd pick to fight, stubborn as hell, kinda nerdy, analyses everything... "

"Aw, thank you, brat!" she laughed. "Yeah, that one. I'm not asking you to dish the dirt- "

He snorted.

"I'm not!" she reassured, indignantly, sitting up. "It's just that...you know a different Michael to everybody else. You're his only- " She stopped, and looked at him questioningly.

"Far as I know!"

"I think you know a side to him that nobody else does. And, well, I don't have anybody else to ask about him."

"Hello? Lincoln? My dad, his brother?"

She sighed. "No. I wouldn't put him - either of them - in that position. There's too much going on there. And he's very defensive... protective of Michael."

"Maybe, he has reason to be."

"I'm sure he does. And, actually, I love that he is. _I_ just have to understand it'll be a while before your dad accepts that he doesn't have to be that way with me."

LJ looked at her consideringly, before returning his gaze to the night sky. "So, you're curious about Uncle Mike... Can I ask you something?" At her nod, he continued, "Who is _he_ going to ask about _you_?"

She looked at him, startled. "Smart boy. You're definitely your uncle's nephew..." God, with everything they'd all been through, it was so easy to forget just how young he was. The things _he'd_ seen... Been through. Lost. She felt a rush of affection for him, and quickly leant over and planted a kiss on his cheek.

He smiled sheepishly. "What- "

"Felt like it." Grinning, she stood up and headed to the ranch slider.

"Hey, you and Uncle Mike? Any wedding on the horizon?"

"Maybe. More than likely. One day... Why do you want to know?"

"Just wondering."

"Right... 'Night, LJ."

She was at the door, when he called out. "Sara, his others? The few that were serious? I'd always ask Uncle Mike why not... All he'd ever say was it wasn't real."

"Oh... Okay." She hitched in a breath. "Don't forget to clear up those bottles hiding under the deck!"

He laughed. "Night. Aunt Sara..." And dodged a flying beer cap.

Looking upwards, he searched for Venus and Saturn - they were supposed to be in alignment, but he was pretty sure that he'd missed it, by now. Next time, maybe. Wouldn't be the same, but then second chances never were. Sometimes, they were better.

"You did good, LJ," he said, softy, and raised his bottle. "And here's to you, Uncle Mike - your secrets are still safe with me. And I'm glad this one is real."

* * *

(1)"Health, wealth and love!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:** Timing**  
Summary:** My baby, she wrote me a letter...  
**  
**

* * *

_6:30 pm:_

Bastard. The last word. Well. _That_ wasn't allowed.

Sara looked at the closed door, pondering her two options. One involved tidying herself up, so she'd be all ready when Michael was. So that they could _finally_ leave and catch up with the family. The other option... didn't. It required time, and there wasn't any - remember?

Tough. They were already late, and she had no doubt about what the others were thinking. So, hell, if you're going to have to do the time, why not actually do the crime?

But what would Michael say? She knew what he'd probably _do_ - kill her. But that would be _afterwards_. So she'd die happy, at least.

She undid buttons with one hand, while turning the door knob with her other, and slipped inside.

"MICHAEL!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

_30 minutes earlier:_

"Sara, have you seen my... " Michael trailed off, finding the room empty. Okay, he could look for himself - maybe, a pair had ended up in her drawer by mistake. He rummaged through them - the lacy, the practical - all beautiful, especially when lying discarded on the floor. And then his hand closed around it. An envelope. Bearing his name - in Sara's messy-beautiful doctor's scrawl.

And the devil and angel - his constant companions - got to work. His very own Gollum and Smeagol:

_'Open it, Scofield, you wants it...it's from your Preciousss...'  
'No, no, Michael! Must wait! Wrong to take - Precious must give!'  
'But it's your name - ooopen it...'  
'No, mustn't! Precious will be sooo angry! Won't give us ANYTHING if angry!'_

Michael grabbed another towel and draped it around his shoulders, a green baize to their chattering. They were both right, but- Oh, who the hell was he kidding? The envelope bore _his_ name - he'd been going to open it from the minute he'd found it. _' Mom would be so disappointed,' _he thought, ruefully.

He sank onto their bed and started reading. _'Oh, god, Sara...'_ He felt...flayed, nerves tender and exposed, his skin sensitive to the slightest brush of fabric and air. Re-reading her words, he could feel tears rising, then glanced down. Oh. Not the only thing. _'Not a day to be a peacock, Mikey.'_

Crap. As was so often the case, the timing sucked. As for now, though? Oh, he really needed to see a doctor.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

'"Hey, Doc, where the hell's Mike?"  
"Yeah, he better not keep us back - I need food. Gotta keep up my- "  
"Shut up about your stomach, Nando! Sara, is Michael okay? He said just a quick shower- "  
"Ha! Uncle Mike? Shower _quickly_- "  
"Eh? Papi's always been super quick!"  
"Trust us, kid, in prison he got a _lot_ faster!"  
"Hello, people, focus! Sara, maybe you'd better go fetch him before Linc- "

"SAAARRRAAA!"

Stunned silence. Michael? Bellowing?

Then the chorus started up, again:

"Ohhh, wonder what _he_ wants!"  
"Maybe a really early present?"  
"Already got one he wants to share!"

Strangely flustered, Sara starting moving towards the hall. She knew it was just their normal teasing, but sometimes she wanted to...

"Tell him, unless he's going for a record, he'll have to wait - we gotta make tracks!"

That did it. Turning round, she snarled, "Screw. You." And left to more raucous laughter.

"Ay, Doc, what we just been saying? No time!"  
"Forget it, Doc - we're going to Juan's first - meet you there!"

_'He'd better be dying,'_ she thought, viciously, and barged into their room.

"This had better be good, Sco- Michael? Where- ?"

"Hello, Sara." He'd been standing behind the door, which he now closed - very quietly. Then locked - very deliberately. Before walking - very slowly - to the other side of the room and facing her.

She sucked in her breath. "Holy fuck," she breathed, reverently. He was easy on the eyes at the worst of times, but right now? Smoking. God knows, she loved every inch of him, but only very rarely now did the sight of him literally steal her breath. Seen daily, even beauty is not immune to the patina of mundanity, the expected - missed if it were gone, noticed if polished to megawatt life. Michael had been polished.

She searched his face, trying to figure out what it was. His eyes. They were glittering like jewels. And, oh, they were incendiary. _'Wait, can jewels be incendiary? Maybe hard stones, like diamonds, but Michael's eyes are more like those greener aquamarines, and aren't they from the same family as emeralds? Which are pretty soft and- God, just stop! Focus!'_

Oh, his eyes were definitely incendiary - she could feel their heat from across the room. Her gaze drifted. Down his inky chest and belly, down to the towel draped around-

_'Oh, my... No, focus! What's going on?'_

Clearing her throat, she raised her eyebrows. "You bellowed? Oh, and by the way, I only respond to one a month. That was yours."

He took a step towards her, waving a suspiciously familiar envelope. "Recognize this? Yes? Do you have _any_ idea of how it makes me feel?"

Her eyes flickered down. "A fairly accurate one, yes." _' What the hell was he doing in that drawer?'_

"Oh, I seriously doubt you do. Think of icebergs, Sara..."

_'What's the point? You'd just melt them with your incendiary eyes...molten stare...incandescent gaze. And when did I swallow a thesaurus? Oh. Right. Never mind...'_

"You know what they say, Michael, no good comes from reading other people's mail. Where did you _find_ this letter?"

"Where you _left_ it. And it had my name on it - Michael - are you saying it wasn't intended for me?" he asked, with excruciating politeness.

_'Oh, not a good sign. Something's definitely up. Something else.'_

"I was brought up to understand that mail isn't yours until you've actually received it. And it was in _my_ drawer. Really, I'm a bit disappointed, Michael, I'd have thought your mother- " She caught his guilty look and stopped, feeling a twinge of remorse. _'Oh, playing the Dead Mother Card - bitch!'_

"God, Sara, I know, I'm sorry- "

"No, no, it's okay," she relented, with all the backbone of an invertebrate. "I was saving it. For your birthday. As part of your gift. Did- do you like it?"

He looked up, flushed and _it_ - whatever - was back.

"Sara, I would like nothing better than to _show_ you how much I do - how it makes me feel - but, no time. Shall I tell you, instead?" he asked, taking one step towards her. "For a start, it makes me want us to skip this dinner." A second step. "Stay in our home. Alone. In our room. Locked. In our bed. Naked."

Third, fourth and fifth. She was nearly backed up to the door, retreating under his advance from the count of two. There was no way he couldn't hear her breathing, she just hoped he hadn't noticed... other things. _'Just get a grip! You're tough, sensible, garroting, shoot-'em-up, prison-serving, druggie Doctor Sara - the Iron Lady. In control of your life. Master of your domain- Oh, crap, no. The hand. Okay, _one_ of the masters.'_

Encircling her forearm with his right hand, Michael supported himself against the door with his left. After their first all encompassing glance, his eyes had carefully remained on Sara's face. She looked stunning - everything gloriously enhanced. Yes, she was definitely dressed to kill, and doing a good job of it, the blood draining from his brain like a shot to the head. He knew Sara wasn't feeling threatened by his actions - other things, yes, but not that. Of course, he didn't know if she felt _quite_ what he did, or with the same intensity, but he was prepared to find out. She'd proffered this particular envelope, and he was going to push it.

"Yes, that sounds like one of your really good, uh, plans. But, hey, like you said, no time! Better hurry, right? The others will be wondering- "

"See now, Sara, _I'm_ a bit disappointed," he reproached. "I thought you didn't worry about what others thought. Plus, you know how... detailed I like to be in my planning. Did you really think I'd finished telling you? No, no," he continued, his hand sliding down her arm to clasp hers. He knew that she had a thing for his hands. But he didn't know whether or not she knew. That he knew. That she had a thing, that is... Oh, yeah, his brain was really missing that blood. Mikey was such a hoarder.

He stroked her fingers, taking one each at a time and gently pulling it through his own. "Do you know what exquisite torture is, Sara?" His eyes locked on hers, adding weight to his words, his fingers stroking and pulling. "It's when you desperately want - _need_ - something, and it's right there in front of you. But it's _just_ out of reach. And you can't have it. No matter how hard you try. You might get it. Eventually. But not right _then_. When you so desperately want it. Sara, those infirmary visits- " He paused. _'Wait, wait - this isn't supposed to be about then - it's about us, right here and now and through this damned dinner!'_ No, definitely not Fox River, and all those deep, unexpected feelings he could never have planned for.

He dropped his head to her shoulder, felt her slight shiver. Started nuzzling up towards her ear. "Sara, my... perseverance? My ability to concentrate? Focus? Have you ever wondered what they'd be like put to other uses? For good rather than evil? Because they can be. And you have _no_ idea, Sara, of the things I want to do. With you. For you. Starting, oh so slowly, with..."

Putting her own concentration into remaining upright, Sara zoned out on the rest of his whispered intentions. Most of them.

"Michael, I want you to know that I really hate you, right now." She un-plastered her hand from the door, and dug her fingers into his shoulder, the only response a slight tensing.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, with deep insincerity. "I'm being bad. Don't know what's gotten into me."

"Surely that's for me to say?"

"Not yet it isn't. And, trust me, you will definitely know."

She did believe she'd figured out, though, what was up with Michael. The deliberateness, the slowness, the measured care and calm. He was in danger of unraveling. Not in the kick-Bellick-in-the-head kind of way Linc had once recounted with such relish. No, he was hanging on by a thread - his vaunted control, his self-denial, at a tipping point.

Running her hand down shoulder to wrist, she could feel the fine, scarcely visible tremor humming through him like a current. It reminded her of her uncle's stables, the soothing of an overwrought thoroughbred as it would try to rein itself back in. And she had brought him to this. She. Sara Tancredi. And her little letter. Was it really so wrong of her to feel awed? Powerful? Aroused.

"...theory into practice," he continued, teeth gently closing over a plump, sensitive earlobe. "But - no time," he finished, slowly drawing away.

She moaned, nerve endings exquisitely tender - much like this torture. She knew the others were waiting, knew what they'd all be thinking. Too bad. "Michael? What we used to do? At Fox River? You know, this?" She raised their clasped hands, stroking his thumb. "And especially this?" Eyes staring deeply into his, she brought her other hand up to his face, fingers gently brushing across his eyes and coming to rest on his cheek. "Thank you for never attempting to... voice it there. Do anything. Before we- "

"I couldn't."

"No, and I'm glad. Because I really think that, if you had- Well, I'm not sure any of us would be here." She stopped at his questioning gaze, considering her next words. Continued matter-of-factly, "Quite likely, I'd be fired, you'd be in solitary and Linc would be dead."

"Oh. I see your point. Do you really believe that?" At her slight nod, he rested his forehead against hers. "You may be right. Guess it's just as well _I_ had some self-control, then - otherwise, _you'd_ have a lot to be sorry- "

"What? ME?"

"Yes. But don't feel guilty - that never happened. Unlike my problem, for which you should, because it did - and it _is_ all your fault."

"What, still? So, the thought of your brother dead hasn't... diminished you? At all?"

"Hell, no, he's way too loud and alive. And, anyway, I'm trying not to live in the subjunctive."

_'The subjunctive? What the- ? No, no time.'_ Besides, his freed hand was now under her dress, wreaking crimes against her panties.

"Michael, you know when I said I hated you? Earlier?"

"Mmm..."

"Too little, too soon."

He smirked. "Sorry, just wanted to share the love..."

"Very thoughtful of you, but, really, yours _is_ a surmountable problem - by now, we could've- "

"Sara, Sara, you still don't get it - once really wouldn't be enough. And then there'd be the tidying up, the re-dressing... No time."

"Oh, believe me, both will still be needed." She nudged him with her hips. "Well...?"

"Don't do that!" he moaned. They both looked downwards, disappointment etched on their faces. "Just as well I hadn't already showered!" Sighing, he took a step backwards, only to find Sara's arms suddenly anchored around his neck. "I really have to go..."

"Can I- ?"

"NO! Remember what happened the last time?"

"Vividly."

"Exactly!" He unwound her arms and headed for the door, but stopped half way and turned back. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

Sara felt him stroke her hair behind her ear, before gently cupping her face and kissing her. Slow... Soft... Belly-deep... _'Oh, his tongue should be insured... and his fingers... and, of course- '_

"Thank you for my gift, Sara." He gently closed her hand around the letter, then headed back.

"Think of me..."

"You wish!"

She waited until the door was almost closed before softly calling out. "Michael? My plan wasn't to _give_ you the letter, you know. I was going to read it to you. Lying in our bed. Naked."

The door slammed shut. Then quickly re-opened. "Sara? What you wrote? Me, too." And then it _was_ closed. Firmly.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Grinning, Michael leant against the tiled bathroom wall, and reached around to turn on the shower. After a couple of minutes, he started passing his hand back and forth through the water, interrupting its flow at regular intervals. And he waited.

He knew Sara would sneak in, wouldn't be able resist. His bad girl would surely be the death of him. One day. He looked forward to the journey.

He also knew there really wasn't time. Then again, time was so..._fluid_. And relative. So, fuck it. If Albert said so... The relative part, that is, not the rest. Though, who knows, he might've said that, too - apparently, he'd been a pretty normal, fun guy. For a genius.

Of course, in this case, time _was_ a relative. One who bitched endlessly and teased unmercifully. And who'd have an absolute field day. But that would be later. So, until then, what Albert said.

He straightened slightly, noticing the door knob slowly turning. Watched a familiar head furtively appear... _' Chestnut. Yesterday, I thought mahogany, but, no, it's definitely chestnut- '_

"MICHAEL!"

"Hello, Sara - took you long enough. My arm was beginning to cramp, and not in a good way..."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

_Juan's place, 7:30 pm:_

"So, do you think they'll be nerds?"  
"They'll have genius kids."  
"And so cute..."  
"Michael? A _father_? You're friggin' kidding, right? It would kill 'im."  
"What d'you mean?"  
"Well, if Doc hadn't murdered him during the pregnancy, _and_ he'd managed to survive toddlerdom, he'd definitely be dead by the teenage years. And if he wasn't, hell, he'd wish he _were_..."  
"Hey, they're here - finally. And, wow!"  
"Uncle Mike looks like- "  
"Sugar bender. Major overload."  
"Damn, Doc's looking...very happy!"  
"Pipe flushed."  
"LINCOLN!"  
"God, Dad!"  
"Oh, ewww!"  
"Ay, that's cold, man!"  
"What? And who called it? Now, everybody pay up - twenty bucks. Each."  
"Ummm... Anybody else feeling uncomfortable?"  
"Hell, yeah. Hope they tone it down before they get over he- "  
"Heeey, you two! You look... nice. What took so long? Everything okay?"

"Oh, pffft!" said Sara, waving an arm dismissively. "Funniest thing - it all started when Michael couldn't find any underwear and went searching through mine- "

"No shit..."

"LINCOLN!"

"_What?!_"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

_30 minutes earlier:_

Michael slumped against the shower wall, Sara wrapped around him, their breath slowly returning.

"_'To be loved by Michael is to be loved indeed'_," she quoted into the wet skin of his throat. "And in deed."

He smiled into her neck. "The joy is all in the giving. And the gifts. Okay, _and_ the receiving."

She grinned and leant back to stare into very satiated green eyes. "You know we're toast..."

"Oh, yeah. Toasted. Roasted. Soon to be grilled. Worth it."

"Oh, yeah."

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:** Reality  
**Summary:** Now and then, what is real may still need to be spelt out.  
**  
**

* * *

_Once upon a time, in a land...reasonably far away, there lived an intelligent, kind, lively doctor. Her many diverse talents, strangely enough, included garroting and shooting - to be used only when _absolutely_ necessary, of course. Or she was really pissed off. Whatever. Point is, she was resourceful, kick-ass, tough - the Iron Lady. Pretty and nice, but not girly. Caring and sympathetic, but not needy. And deeply beloved. Which she _knew_. But, sometimes, knowing just wasn't, well...enough._

_And, so, one day..._

"I want to ask you something... No, forget it, it's silly!"

"You don't really know that unless you ask... "

"No, it's really- "

"Ask!"

"Okay! How much _do_ you love me?"

Michael's trailing fingers paused, his expression suddenly wary. "Uh, lots?"

"Oh, please! _Lots?_ Haven't I told you?" Crap, she _knew_ she shouldn't have asked! How needy, how... how girl-

He shrugged. "Can't really say- "

"Excuse me? The letter?"

"What letter? I haven't _received_ any." Face bland, his fingers resumed their journey.

"How about _stealing_ one?" Sara enquired, silky smooth.

"Oh, _that_ one," he deadpanned. "Yes, you do tell me - amply - in the _future_. Have I thanked you? In the present?"

"Amply and aptly. Now, how much?" Damn it, she needed to know, so that- Wait, no, that wasn't right. She _did_ know - she just needed him to _say_ it. She wasn't sure why, just that she did.

"Me love you long time- "

"Don't start with me..."

He looked at her consideringly, fingers detouring in a new direction. How he did he feel today? Like dipping his toe into hot, dangerous waters? Kind of reckless? Slightly suicidal? Yeah, stuff it.

"Michael?"

"This is very..._girly_ of you. For you, that is." _'I shot an arrow into the air...' (1)_

Silence. Of the variety _moribundus michaelus_.

_'... It fell to earth, I know-'_ "OW!" _'-just where!' (2)_

"I'm sure you want to re-phrase that."

How's the water, Michael? Hot enough? Oh, go on, you know you like it _really_ hot. "No, no... can't say that I do. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd think you'd gone on a big spending spree- "

"You're still breathing only because I'm assuming you speak from dark, _bitter_ experience. Because your other girlfriends - the bimbos, as it were - might've done- "

" -or that you wanted something," he finished, without pause. Yeah, the water should be boiling now.

"You're just trying to provoke me, now, aren't you?"

"I'm hurt you would think that."

"Aw, never mind - just think of it as a practice run for the hurt to come should you continue."

"Ow. Ow, ow, ow... Okay!"

"So, again: how much do you love me?"

"I'm an engineer - I don't understand the question- "

"Michael, you're an engineer like Mozart was a composer."

"Mozart _was_ a composer."

"Mozart was a _genius_ composer."

"I'm not a genius."

"Alright, you're an engineer with unusual gifts."

"They're not gifts," he refuted, very quietly. "That's a common assumption."

She looked at him, carefully. "Okay... Abilities."

Silence.

"And your abilities are gifts to those you love."

"That's because they think it would be neat to have them."

"I don't mean _they_ think they're gifts, I mean... How can I put it?" Then she noticed him smiling. "Why the smile? Are you teasing me? You know exactly what I'm trying to say, don't you?"

"No, honestly, I don't. I just love watching you think," he reassured, with a wide grin.

"Don't _do_ that. I hate it when you condescend."

His face became expressionless, gaze turning straight ahead. "Okay. Sorry."

"And don't do _that_ - please!"

He returned his gaze to her.

"Don't shut down..._disappear_... "

"I'm right here, Sara - I haven't _gone_ anywhere. And I _wasn't_ being condescending," he denied, brusquely. "There's a difference between condescension and indulgence- "

"Fine, indulge me - I think what would make me happiest right now is if we just forgot this conversation."

"If that's what you really want?"

"Yes, it is. Would you turn off the light, please? 'Night."

"'Night." Well, _that_ went well... Water was boiling, alright - you are _so_ cooked! Just had to ride the ragged edge of disaster, didn't you?

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sara woke up abruptly, eyes straying to the soft early light filtering through the window - barely dawn. Rolling to her right, she found empty space beside her, and sat up, heart starting to race.

"Michael?"

Silence. Then she noticed the two flowers carefully arranged on his pillow - an intricate origami and a red hibiscus, its delicate petals still furled against the cool air. And, beside them, an envelope - its whiteness blending into the pillow's - with her name neatly inscribed.

She started reading. _'Oh, Michael...'_

Rat bastard. This wasn't fair. The day had barely started, and she was already in tears.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He sat on the beach, arms resting on bent knees - waiting. Looking out to sea. The ex-con had been drawn to the seemingly endless expanse of the Pacific, but Chicago boy had been around for far longer, and _he_ had yearned for the warmer Caribbean. With enthusiastic support from his expanded family, the boy had prevailed, and the Sea it was. A distant nod, at best, Michael wryly acknowledged, to his abandoned Diving Shop.

He tensed, hearing something - knowing it was her.

Sara sat down close, and settled her head on his shoulder. "This is a nice spot. Secluded... Just as well you left directions." She held out a flower. "I choose this one."

He kissed her cheek, relieved. "Good. I'm glad. And I'm sor-"

"No, don't. Please. We will talk... later... some day."

He nodded once, bumping her up his list of People With Whom He Should Talk.

She carefully put down the flower, before straddling his lap, then cupping his face. "Thank you, Michael. And...me, too."

He smiled. "You're welcome, Sara - my pleasure." His hands drifted down her back. "And, now, let's see to yours."

"Mr Scofield, are you intending to prove that your sword is mightier than your pen?

"Oh, I prefer to think of them as more of a tag team... Shall we see?"

"I'm up for it- "

"My line, surely?"

"Tough, too slow- Oh! Uh, Michael, you know, _that_ is definitely measur- Ow!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sitting beside him as he dozed, she re-read his words:

_You could take the origami flower, Sara, and it will last forever, but it isn't real. The other one _is_. It will fade and die, but it's merely a representation.  
What it represents won't. That will change. But it won't die. And there will be some representation of it every day for as long as I am able to give one._

_You ask me how much I love you, but I can't answer you that. You see, I _am_ an engineer, Sara__ - I can recognise the immeasurable, what can't be quantified.  
And that is how I love you. Immeasurably. Unquantifiably. _

_I am all yours. My battered heart, damaged body, strange mind. My bruised, yet hopeful, spirit. _

_Michael_

_X marks my spot. Should you wish to follow._

She wiped her eyes with his shirt sleeve - bastard hayfever - and looked at her hibiscus. The first blush had already gone, and it was starting to wilt. But that was okay, it really was. There would be some kind of others. And if some days there weren't, that was okay, too. Because she knew. She'd always known, and now she had it in writing. And that was better than ok-

"You know, Sara, _I_ still haven't received any letter- OW! Okay, okay, letgoletgoletgo..."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

_How long do you want to be loved?  
Is forever enough?  
Cause I'm never, never giving you up.  
- _The Dixie Chicks_, Lullaby_

* * *

(1) Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,_The Arrow and the Song_  
(2) Apologies to Mr. Longfellow


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:** Disclosure  
**Summary:** Dis closure, dat closure, no closure  
**  
**

* * *

Linc glanced up to see Sara, head bent, concentrating on her patients' notes.

It still surprised him how fond of her he'd become. Once upon a time, he would've dismissed her as one of those do-gooder, hand-wringing, bleeding-heart liberals - all _'sound and fury, signifying nothing'_.(1) He smiled, remembering the times Michael had said that to him in response to his rants about... hell, anything that had been annoying the shit out of him!

Intelligent, whip-smart, sense of humour - and Christ knows you needed one of those with Mike or you'd be steam-rolled. Yeah, she was good people. Almost good enough for his brother. Just as well, cause his brother was a complete goner for her. Toast. Whipped. No, the two of them were just...right. Very-

"OW! _FUCK!_ Goddamn frigging useless piece of shit-eating metal- "

"Lincoln! Are you ok- "

"Jesus, Sara, does it sound like I'm okay? Fucking hammer!"

"Oh, no, did it mistake your thumb for a nail? I've said for years now that hammers need operating licenses, the number of accidents they cause..."

"Ha frigging ha! You have a shit bedside manner, you know."

"Yes, so your brother told me the last time he was in here. For attention. Medical, I mean..."

"What other kind would you?" he smirked, pulling his thumb out of his mouth and wringing it. "Mike's been pretty good, lately, so that time must've been for his cut butt, right? Fuck, that was funny!"

"I _knew_ you had to be involved!"

"What'd that little snot tell you?! And what d'you mean _I_ had to be involved? Like baby brother needs _my_ help getting into trouble!"

"What happened?" she asked, grabbing his hand and glaring at him.

"Oh. So, you really don't- " he stopped, and shrugged, casually. "Sorry, Doc, I'm Linc the Sink, not Linc the Fink - what goes on tour, stays on tour."

"Oh, thank you, Dr Seuss!" _Men_ - code of honour, my ass! Nothing but overgrown schoolboys... She made sure his thumb was clean and there was nothing split, before applying cooling gel and gauze strapping. "That should do it, but you'd better rest it for a while - stay away from those dangerous tools..."

"Heh heh, _not_! Sarky bitch- OW! Jesus, Doc, where'd you learn to knuckle like that?"

"What can I say? The BS Brothers aren't the only insalubrious elements I've hung out with."

"BS Brothers?"

"Appropriate, no? So full of it." She grinned and wandered over to the alcove. "It's nearly finished... You've done a wonderful job, Linc - you and Michael make a great team."

"Thanks. Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you two."

"Yeah? Good, glad you think so." She hesitated, then continued, "How's Jane? Heard from her lately?"

He shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Haven't heard anything for a week or so - you?"

"About the same. She seems to be really busy. Wonder when she'll be down, next?"

"Dunno. Mike's birthday, maybe? Or the christening?"

"Yeah, probably." She watched as he sanded an edge. "Are you- I mean, the two of you- Everything alright?"

He stopped and smoothed his hand down the trimming. "I don't know that we're ever gonna be anything really serious, Doc. Long-term. To be honest, I've wondered if I was some kind of replacement for Dad. Not that there was anything, you know, like that between them, but..." He shrugged, again. "Nah, we're good. Friends with benefits!"

"Mmm... Funny how often those arrangements seem to end with at least one party getting hurt. Do you think she resents your staying here?"

"Dunno - she's never said, and can't say I've ever really thought about it."

"Why _do_ you stay, Lincoln? You can go home - come visit us anytime, like LJ."

He shook his head, adamantly. "No, I'm not going back until Mike can. I'd do pretty much anything for him," he finished, quietly. "Well, except what _he_ did! That was some unbelievable shit - off the fucking radar! Just so..."

"Michael!" they chorused, shaking their heads.

"Hey, Doc...do you ever regret leaving the door open?"

She fiddled with her pen. "Ever regret? Yes. Not as often now, but... I have done. We'll all of us always have regrets, won't we? And it was never the action itself, but its consequences - all the suffering. Death. But, then...my current life is also one of those consequences - an outcome. And I love it. "

"Life can be shit."

"Oh, very Zen!" she laughed.

"Doc? About Sona? I'm sorry."

She looked at him, seriously. "I know you are, Linc. Water under the bridge, okay?"

"Okay. And, as we're being all honest and shit... Thanks for making Michael so happy."

She looked down, smiling, and nodded. "No need - believe me, it's a reciprocal arrangement."

"And, please, don't ever hurt him."

She looked up, startled. "Michael's the last person in the world I'd ever want to hurt- "

"You say that, but...I've noticed those marks on his skin- Ow! Goddammit!"

"Moron!"

"Hey, it's ox, not moron - _ox_."

"What- Oh, eavesdropping... Well, you know what they say about those who do."

"Christ, Mike even called you saying those words. That's just...wrong."

She grinned. "We know each other pretty well - without knowing a great deal _about_ each other, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I think so. You know, Doc, if you want to know anything about Mike, just ask him. Anything," he advised, as he walked back to the window. "But you'll have to ask first... so that _he_ can then ask _you_. We were raised properly - ladies first. Hell, what am I saying - not relevant..."

"Oh, brave words from the other side of the room!" She looked at him, carefully, then quickly glanced away. "Lincoln? If I tell you something, will you promise me you won't tell Michael?"

"Sara, I don't- " he replied, warily.

"Promise?"

"Okay. I guess."

"Michael mustn't ever know, but...you're actually the brother I always wanted."

"Christ, Sara..." he started, voice filled with dread, before he clicked. "Shit, you little- "

"Oh, I'm sorry," she laughed, sinking onto her chair. "I couldn't help myself! Oh god, your face!"

"Please tell me you were joking!"

"No, seriously - if I ever had to choose a big brother, it would be you."

"Well, thanks - kind of always wanted a little sister. Not so violent, maybe! But I meant about me not telling Mike - please? Just to see the look on his face- "

"No! I don't think he'd fall for it - and, anyway, Michael's not the jealous type- "

"Load of crap! All men are jealous when it comes to their women - it's hardwired into us, and Michael's no different. God, the two of you are a real pair - living in frigging la-la land!"

"La-La Land? Does that border Never Never?" Michael watched, amused, as they spun around. "Who's living there, and why- Hey, Linc, what happened?"

"Out of control hammer," Sara butted in. "My life as I know it - fixing up the BS Brothers' scrapes and bruises. Remember your last bleeding visit, Michael? Lincoln and I were just talking about it."

"Really?" He leant against the door jamb and exchanged a guarded look with his brother.

Sara rolled her eyes. Secret squirrel overgrown schoolboys... "Yes, really. And I'm disappointed, Michael - I can't believe you did something so stupid."

"Can't you? Ah, well..." he replied, smiling.

"Oh, just go! _Both_ of you - leave!" she ordered. "I've got real patients to see!"

"What about our lunch date?"

"You've killed my appetite."

His smile just widened as he headed to the door, Linc following slowly.

"Hey, Doc, what you said? Sure I can't- "

"No! And if you do, I'll never talk to you again- "

"Wow. _That's_ an incentive?"

"Go on, Linc, what'd she say?" Michael asked in a whisper as they left.

"Sorry, bro, I'm Linc the Sink, not Linc the Fink - what goes on tour, stays on tour." He poked his head into the room and winked at Sara, before disappearing.

She closed the door, smiling. "Welcome to the brotherhood, Sara." And returned to her notes.

* * *

_(1) _William Shakespeare_, Macbeth_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:** Tense  
**Summary:** Past imperfect, future conditional, present continuous.

* * *

Sara leant into him. "We can't keep living in the past, you know - it's too tiring. We have to let it go."

"Yeah, I know. I have. For the most part. But some things... Well, easier said than done."

"Hey, not easy to say, either. I suppose- I mean, I feel- Oh, I don't know. Maybe that regret can end up such a...wasteful emotion. Contrition is one thing - and acknowledging mistakes - but it's so easy to let them overwhelm you. I've been there, Michael. You become- "

"Mired..." He'd always suspected that women were the more practical - in some ways, stronger - sex and Sara was his confirmation.

"Yes... And, in reality, we can't do anything to fix them- "

"Atonement?"

"I don't know, Michael - did Sona wipe the slate clean for you? Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't- "

"No, Sara - it's a fair question."

"No, it isn't - not really. You did what you felt you _had_ to, the only thing you felt you could do. So, I don't believe any of us has the right to judge its worth."

"Not sure that I agree with that. I'd think that any of you who were affected would have that right. Still, to answer your question, no. It didn't. Expiation seldom does. It's just...a loss for a loss."

"So, why do we atone? To make _ourselves_ feel better? Because we feel guilty? Not worthy of who we are, what we have - redress some imbalance- " She stopped, some of her old bitterness bubbling through. '_Let it go, let it go...'_

"A karmic chequebook? Oh, Sara, I don't know." He stroked her hair with one hand, while sifting sand with his other. Almost wishing for a magic wand. Except they, too, could be dangerous - change one thing, risk changing everything. And he was selfish enough not to want what he had now to be different. "And, hey, even if it isn't really possible to fix past mistakes, we both know that a lot of good _has_, and always will, come from people trying to make up for their _incredibly_ shitty pasts."

"I know, I know."

"Johnny Depp, 21 Jump Street to Captain Jack- "

"Idiot!" She hugged his arm, tightly. "Maybe all we're ever really left with is trying to make the here, the now, as good as possible."

"You know, I understand the ideal of leaving the world a better place, but...there is another belief. That if you leave this world as you found it - not better, not worse, just...as you found it - then, you _must _have lived a good life. Sounds easy, but to leave it no worse? In _any_ way? Difficult..."

"The old precept: '_To help, or at least to do no harm' (1)_. Yeah, I get it, but we still _aim_ for better, surely? And hope that some of it filters through to the future." Letting go of his arm, she lifted it up and settled her head in his lap, gazing out to sea. "And, in the meantime, we accept that the past- "

"Is another country?" He fidgeted, then quickly stopped, as her head just settled more solidly on his lap. Oh.

She snuggled in more closely. "One we aren't going to live in- Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?" Her head dug in slightly as she turned to look up at him.

"Don't. Don't do that."

She started laughing.

"Don't do _that_, either."

"Wow, am I allowed to breathe?"

"Only gently, no deep heaving or jiggling."

She rolled her eyes. For such a focused guy, sometimes, his attention could turn on a dime. Or her head. Well. If distraction was in order... "Imagine if we did, though. Live in the past?"

"You said we shouldn't."

"I don't mean _our_ past, just _the_ past. You know, people complain about fashion styles nowadays? Everything on display? Same old, same old, way back - legs not so much, but breasts, well... You'd have been way more, uh- "

"Titillated? Dead, with a smile on my face?"

"I think you'll find that poison tends to leave more of a grimace."

"I'll_ find?_"

"Just saying..."

"Says the woman who isn't jealous."

"Moving on... Where was I- "

"I'm disappointed. Kellerman got a full throttle garrotting, and I get...poison. It seems so, well, impersonal. Hands-off. For you."

"Oh, don't feel like that. Poisons are really interesting. Stealthy. A person can be doomed before they even realise what's happening, and when - _if_ - they do, well... Too late. And if you're with them when they _do_ realise..."

"Oh. Well. If it's _interesting_. You've thought about this a great deal?"

"Just a little. I really enjoyed biochemistry. And toxicology."

"Learning should always be fun."

"Exactly. So, as I was saying- "

"I can be deadly, too."

"You're an engineer - what're you going to do? Measure somebody to death?"

"Very good. Exactly right. A ladder tilted at _just_ the right angle. An elevated surface - say a platform or deck - with insufficient load-bearing capacity. Nothing criminally obvious, just enough for the stress collapse to happen sooner rather than later. Miscalculations can be dangerous, lead to unfortunate...accidents. But, please, continue - don't let me interrupt."

"That is disturbing. I'm relieved our home is all at ground level."

"Thank you, Dr Borgia."

"And back to the past - the big difference is that men _also_ dressed to display and attract, like the males in most _other_ species. Cod pieces, tights- "

"No. Way!"

" -and make-up, too - but that's coming back in more, now. And, later, there were tight breeches and boots. Jackets fitted to perfection - you'd have looked good in all of those. Did you know they used to stuff their pants? And not just where you'd think! Thighs, calves, anything to give a better line. Shoulders." She patted his knee, reassuringly. "Don't worry, you wouldn't have needed _any_ of that."

"I assume we're not talking about the poor and downtrodden, here? The working stiff? No, didn't think so. You seem to know a lot about all this - did you study history before medicine?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "I like the old classics - movies, books. I've always read a lot- "

"What, those sappy... what were they called- "

"No!"

"Hey, it's okay - to each their own - reading's reading." He settled back against the log, a smile on his face, picturing his oh-so-sensible Sara as a young girl in her room, reading her romantic novels.

He sucked in his breath, as his mean-pain-in-the-ass Sara gently pressed in her head.

"Not saying there's anything wrong with those - because there _isn't_ - but I meant Austen and the like- "

"Ah, English past not American past."

"No. It's kind of hard to believe, now, but Americans were a lot more straitlaced - literally. Everything so laced-up, buttoned-up... What's Scofield?"

"English - long time. Burrows, too."

"I can just picture you with longer hair- "

"Not gonna happen- "

"Excuse me, _I'm_ telling this story. Longer hair, tight breeches, long knee boots, white billowy-sleeved shirt, all wet from striding through the water- "

"Oh, hell no! Please, Sara - _not_ Pride and frigging Prejudice!"

"So, you _do_ know Austen..."

"My girlfriend at the time was obsessed with Mr Darcy - I had to buy her the DVD set."

"That was sweet of you."

"Tcha! Trust me, it was a peace-offering - I offered it to her, and she gave me peace."

"I hav- used to have it, too. Back in my apartment."

"I'll get you another copy," he promised, fingers brushing her cheek.

"Wow, hope there's no hidden message in there," she smirked, "cause you're getting no peace from _me_! And, thanks for the offer, but it's okay. Apart from certain things which just can't be replaced, I don't have any great interest in replicating my past." She drifted one finger along his leg. "I kind of love my present." Smiled, as his hand clamped down. "I'm even starting to prefer _my_ version of P&P... Where was I? Right, you're a bit angry, and upset and...wet."

"You realise it didn't happen like that? In the book."

"I know, I read- " She looked up, surprised. "Wait, _you_ read it?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And I like to know what I'm dealing with, so I went straight to the source. They sexed it up - the TV series."

"Yeah. Imagine _that_... sexing it up for TV!" She leant back a bit more. "Anyway, I'm all fiery indignation, believing you're an arrogant pig, and I'm wearing one of those low-cut regency dresses- " She paused. "You know, women were curvier, then."

"Curvy's good - never really cared for skinny women. Most men don't."

"Really? Quick, someone alert the media! Anyway, curvy all over - nowadays, they'd probably be considered plump - like Marilyn Monroe would be."

"Who am I to refuse Marilyn? Plump would be good - more Sara- "

"So, you're saying I'm skinny?"

"No! God, no! I- You're- I was- Walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Very disappointing. Where's your brain today?"

"You're lying on it."

She started laughing. "Oops, sorry, forgot! Not supposed to do that. Where was I? Right, you're a pig- "

"Pigs get a really rough deal - they're actually very intelligent. And clean. Loyal, affectionate..."

"Yeah, they are - my uncle kept a few on his ranch. They all knew their names and liked to play - I loved to watch them burrow in their beds..."

"It's kismet - I'm honoured to be included in their ranks."

"After knowing them, I've never eaten- Oh. Don't you dare, Michael!"

"OW! What? I haven't said _anything_!"

"Yeah, well, I could hear you thinking!"

"Oh, please- "

"What can I say - your _brain_ and I are pretty close, right now."

"Huh..." _'Et tu, Mikey?' _

"So, starting again, you're a bastard- "

"What's wrong with cows?"

" -and I'm indignant- Cows? Nothing, why do you- "

"They're nice, too - placid, gentle. Bit stubborn, at times, maybe. Did a cow do something to you? That you're happy to eat them?"

"No, I've just never known any by name or played with- "

"Oh, I see. So, as long as you haven't been acquainted with your food supply, you're happy?"

"Yeah, I guess - like most people. I won't lie and say I don't enjoy some prime beef- Oh. Very good... Guess _I _walked right into that one."

"Disappointing. Where's _your_ brain today?"

"Still right next to yours. Osmosis..."

"Wow. Looking forward to tonight."

"I wouldn't. And interrupt all you want, I'm not losing my place."

"Figures."

"So, again, _you _are a bastard, _I'm_ outraged and furious, and breathing _really_ heavily. Which should be precarious, with the dress so low-cut and light - but the rain has made it damp and, well, clingy."

_'Oh, excellent. Nineteenth century wet t-shirt. The hills will really be alive. Crap. When am I going to catch a break? So much for some nice, relaxing downtime, eh, Mikey?'_ "Yeah. Right. Heaving, straining, clingy - getting the picture loud and clear... We should probably head back- "

She leant back and turned her head. Oh yeah, Darcy and The Brain were _all_ attention. "Why?"

"This log's getting kind of uncomfortable."

"No, really - it's not _that_ bad- Ow!"

"And _you're_ done..."

"But we haven't even gone swimming!"

"Too crowded."

"Michael, there are only two other people here."

"Two, two hundred, whatever. Up. Let's go."

"Fine... I'll continue my story on the way back- "

"No, you _won't_! Not till we get home. Anyway, you're right, the past is the past and we shouldn't live there. Now, move it..."

Smiling, she let him walk ahead, admiring the view. "Okay, I was wrong - maybe you'd have had a bit of padding." She caught his smirk, the raised eyebrow. "Didn't say _where_..."

They walked along in silence for a while, before Michael took a deep breath and confessed, "I may've done a couple of English Lit papers, too."

"_Did_ you now - what was her name?"

"Ha ha. No, I've always loved reading. And poems, novels - language itself - have a structure, an order. Most things do, however random it may be. Intangible." He hooked an arm around her shoulders. "Even then, I preferred Persuasion."

_'Ah, yes, not surprising. Second chances. Hope.'_ "Another of my favourites. Anne and her captain."

"Yeah, strange surname - Wentworth..."

"You wait - someday it'll end up as some kid's first name."

"Seriously? Not for any of _mine_ it won't!"

"Mmmm... Anne would be a nice name for a girl."

"Girl? As in daughter? Oh. Uh, yeah. _About_ that..."

* * *

_1_ Hippocrates, _Epidemics, Bk. I, Sect. XI_

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15:** _xy_  
**Summary:** Girls. And boys. Together. Oh, no...

* * *

They strolled up the beach, sand slowly giving way to stony ground.

"Ow, ow, ow...goddammit!"

"Told you to bring shoes..." Michael watched as Sara hopped on one foot. "But did you listen?"

"Fine, you were right - now, lift me up..."

"You ignore me, called me a big girl's blouse, and now you want me to carry you. I don't think so."

"Michael- "

"What does that mean, by the way? Big girl's blouse?"

"Not sure - wuss, maybe?" She sat on a stump. "I heard it on BBC America."

"Should've known. I kind of like it, actually - colourful."

"Owww... Okay, Michael, I'm sorry I ignored and teased you - _now_ will you carry me?"

"No."

"Bastard."

"Now, _that's_ more like it," he grinned, and hunkered down to examine her foot.

"I'm sure I have a haematoma solum."

"And I'm sure that's medical gibberish for a bruise on your sole."

"Much you know... "

He helped her up. "C'mon, wuss, lean on me. Better yet," he slipped off his own sandals, "put these on - it's not far to go."

"No, now _your_ feet will- "

"Sara, you may be tougher than I am in lots of ways, but not when it comes to feet. Trust me, these platforms have had a helluva tougher ride than your lily-whites! I'm not even ticklish."

"Not _there_, no..."

He grinned, and they resumed their stroll back.

"Michael..."

"Mmm... "

"It's time."

"Told you I'd tell you _later_."

"That was 10 minutes ago - later has arrived, and it's called _now_. Why no girls?"

He finally glanced at Sara, looking slightly harried. "Because I'd die. Young. They'd kill me," he revealed, darkly.

"Literally or figuratively?"

"It'd start at the latter, end at the former..."

"But sons wouldn't? Only daughters have this power?"

"I was a boy - I can deal with them."

"But not with girls. So, what's wrong with _them_?"

"Nothing - I love girls. And I'd love to have a little daughter. But she wouldn't _stay_ that way. Little," he explained, very sadly. "And the whole time that she was little I'd know that it was merely temporary. That the other was waiting to happen. Growing up. Starting with adolescence, then teenagehood- Wait, is that a word?"

"Not sure."

"Never mind. And soon there'd be teenage _boys_..." he finished, grimly.

Sara stifled a smile, torn between exasperation and sympathy at his over-protectiveness. "Michael, you'd be wonderful with a daughter. Look how you are with Sucre's- "

"Huh, don't think I don't stress about my god-daughter. And I've been warning Sucre, don't worry. Have you ever heard that little saying about kids: a son is a son till he takes a wife, a daughter's a daughter all of her life? In other words, with girls it never _ends_. Except it would for me. End. Like I said, I'd be dead. Early. A dead end."

She bit her lip on another smile. "Well, I'm really sorry you feel that way, Michael. But, let's face it, it's all academic, anyway - we get what pops out."

They continued their leisurely amble. "There are ways, supposedly, to guarantee your baby's sex. I could research- "

"Michael, I love you dearly, but don't even go there..."

"Then I guess we aren't having any," he stated, flatly.

"At all? No sex? Ever again? Oh. Okay- "

"Wait, _what_? Hell, no! Why would you _say_ that?" he asked, horrified. "I meant kids!"

"And I repeat: so, no sex- "

"God, don't even _think_ that! Why- Hell, Sara, there are lots of methods- "

"And none safer than abstinence."

"Wait, wait, let's just slow down - _no_ need for drastic decisions- " He broke off as Sara started waving.

"Hey, Doc, 'bro! What are you all up to?"

"Hey, Linc. Discussing sons and daughters."

"What? Aw, Michael, you're not fucking pregnant, are you?"

"No. Neither is Sara."

"Well, thank Christ for that! One baby at a time in the menagerie is plenty. So, what were- "

"It started with names. Monikers..."

"Oh, never liked Monica. Reminds me of one of my first- "

"No, moni_ker_, not- "

"Ignore him, Sara - he's just trying to tease."

"Oh. You know, it's just so sweet how he just keeps doing that - trying. Ow! You- "

"Linc, I've told you I'm the only one allowed to lay a hand on my wife- "

"You told him _what_- "

"You want him to retaliate?"

"But, Mike, she hits me all the time- "

"Toughen up. So, what do you think of Wentworth for a first name, Linc?"

"That no nephew of mine is _ever_ going to be called that! Seriously, bro, too stuffy, too long, too- "

"Only two syllables, actually."

"Dick's got one."

"Good to know - I'm sure he's as relieved as we are."

"Ha ha. What's up with you, you gloomy bastard?"

"Rocks and hard places."

"What, like a log- " Linc stopped and shook his head, as Sara leant into Michael, laughing. "I'm _not_ gonna ask, I don't wanna know. Later, nut-jobs."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Michael turned and looked at his brother. "Wait... Linc, do you wish you'd had a daughter?"

Linc frowned. "What, instead of or also? And what's with the past tense? Could still happen! My guys are great swim- "

"Yeah, fine, we get the picture - unfortunately! Okay, would you like _to have_ a daughter?"

"Hell, yeah," Linc smiled. "And no. Guess I like the idea, but the reality... Dunno," he shrugged, looking out to the blue sea. "I remember Vee. And I remember me. One minute she was a young girl, and the next, she...wasn't. So, yeah, that would be a _no_."

Michael nodded in wise agreement.

Sara looked at them each in turn. "Right... So, essentially, you two are saying that you can't have daughters. For their own protection. Because men are such bastards."

They smiled at her, relieved. "Yes, that's exactly it- "

"But you don't mind having boys? Potential bastards to make life hell for those unsuspecting daughters and _their_ poor, unsuspecting fathers who didn't have _your_ wise foresight?"

"Well, no, not when you put- "

"Anyway, as I was saying before, it's all academic - we get what we get. There's no option to re-insert baby for refund or exchange," she continued, ruthlessly. "Wow, can you imagine _that_ scene..."

"Aw, shit, _Doc_- "

"Not in _this_ incubator, anyway."

"God, Mike, please! Make her _stop_- "

"Sara..."

"Christ, I need a drink! Bro, you coming?"

Michael caught the sardonic glint in Sara's eyes, and handed her the Vespa keys . "Lead the way, brother..."

"Yeah, you run away, boys!" she called out to their retreating backs. "Bastards, my eye - big girl's blouses!"

"Big what? _Blouses?_ What the hell's she talking about?"

"Don't ask- " Michael broke off as his shoes sailed over their heads and landed just in front of them.

"Yours?"

"Yup."

"She's got a good arm."

"Oh, yeah." Turning round he watched Sara retrieve sandals from the depths of her tote bag, then put them on. He smiled in acknowledgment and swept her a deep bow, receiving a grinning curtsy in return.

"Should I ask?"

"Just a rift in the power/control continuum - balance has been restored..."

"Yeah, I shouldn't ask."

Sara grinned at their slowly fading voices and finished the short walk to the scooter. "Well, _that_ was fun. And I'm definitely liking Wentworth more and more," she mused. "And Anne. Or Sara. But with an h - has a certain elegance. Like Katherine with a K. Oh, Anne of Green Gables," she reminisced, fondly. "Now, there was another kick-ass girl. And the lovely Gilbert. Poor guy - another one who didn't stand a chance. Guess, he never got the memo about being-a-bastard, either..."

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16:** Interlewd  
**Summary:** Yes, well, no words, really. Title says it all.  
**A/N:** What happened? Er, I dunno...2 double shot short blacks on an empty stomach? Maybe? Seriously, I've got nothing...

* * *

"Green."

"Blue."

"Green!"

"Blue!"

"They're _green_ and they're _mine_!"

"They're _blue_ and _you_ don't look at them all day- "

"Nobody looks at them all day. And, if they did, they'd see green."

"Okay, maybe, not _all_ day. But, fine, if you insist, I'll force myself to take a good look. Sit."

"Woof!"

"Good boy..." Sara stood in front of Michael, and raised his head, her hands cupped around his face.

Resting his hands on her hips, Michael clamped his lips tightly and tried not to laugh. Nope, not going to work if he stared into her eyes. He let his gaze drop, down her cute nose, past her straightening lips- Oh. _Not_ a good sign. Never mind, places to visit, sights to see... He resumed his journey at her suprasternal notch - ah, good times - and continued down a favoured, well-kissed path.

Oh, his girls were awe inspiring these days, their slopes golden and gleaming. Majestic. How he wished he could wax lyrical about them to Sara - but experience had taught him that, if you used words like lush...full...round, most women tended to just hear _fat_, and rushed off to lose it. And Sod's Law dictated that it come off of the places you least wanted it to. He still remembered the cloud of sorrow surrounding Linc when Vee had finally lost the last of her puppy fat. Not a pretty sight. Or sound. Sad times. No, he would play safe and just bask in this glory all-

"Michael?"

"You know, I've always been grateful that my- That I'm not able to perceive people, their bodies. But sometimes..."

"Trust me, the insides aren't really a pretty sight."

"Like the framework of a building. Yet, there is beauty in the functional."

"True. And the current objects of your affection are nothing if not function- " she stopped, eye contact lost again. "_Michael!_"

"Mmm?"

"The whole point of this is for me to look into your eyes - can't work if you're looking down. "

"But the view, Sara, the view- Ow, ow, ow... Okay, okay..."

He tried. He really did.

"And neither is it going to work if you keep grinning like an idiot!"

"Hey, it's your fault - I look at you and I just want to smile and- "

"Oh, gag me with a spoon!"

"Sara, haven't we already discussed this? If you did gag, it wouldn't be with a spoon- Wait, no, _not_ the knee!"

"I didn't raise- "

"I saw it twitch. And we agreed - no knee, _ever_!"

"Was that part of the spoon discussion?"

"Don't think so. Could've been. Can't remember. I might've been slightly concussed from one of your loving _taps_- "

"Whatever. Speaking of twitching, don't think I can't feel your fingers starting to dance down there - if they start into a slow dip, they're history..."

"Empty threats are sad."

"Just saying. Ohhh...!"

"You'd hurt even Fred and Gene?" he queried, holding up his index and middle fingers. "I don't think so. _That's_ as likely as me ever supporting the Sox."

"Still blue."

"Look harder." He opened his eyes wide and focused on her teasing brown ones. Noticed as they became more serious.

"Michael, do you think I'm, well...violent?"

"Uh..."

"Feel free to lie."

"I'm sure that - most of the time - we're probably deserving of whatever slight punishment you've deemed yourself justified in meting out."

"Wow. That was just...wow. Seriously, that can't be the first answer you thought of."

"No."

"So, what was? Look Ma, no hands - standing back, knees straight."

"I'm sorry, I have no response to that."

"Why- "

"No," he smiled, _"that_ was my first answer - it's a very useful reply." He reached for her hands. "Sara, why are you asking about this? Has anybody- "

"Linc may've said something. And I know he was just kidding, but- "

"Have you been beating up my brother, again? We talked about this- "

"Okay, you're just making up these conversations - there's no _way_ I'd have forgotten so many!"

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "Or, perhaps, it's an indication of what I have to look forward to when you're a little old lady..."

"Serve you right, if it is. But, really, I have noticed that I tend to, uh, hit out...a bit. And I never used to. So, I do wonder."

"Maybe, we're just the most annoying people you've ever met."

"Well, yes, there is that. Good point."

"Great. Here to help. But, about Linc - do you think you _could_ refrain from hitting him?"

She drew back, frowning. "I don't do it _that_ often! Or hard."

"No, I know - it's just that, when Linc's hit, he's used to retaliating and- "

"But, Michael, he'd never hit me back! You know that."

"I do. And that's kind of the problem - he'd just bottle it up and bottle it up, and the pressure would rise and rise, and next thing- "

"He'd explode?"

"'Fraid so."

"As in verbally or Lincoln Go Boom?"

"That one."

"Oh. Well, that wouldn't be good. He'd be hell to clean up."

"I know. The new furniture..."

"And we've only just had the tiles waxed and polished..." She rested her hands on his chest. "No hitting. Unless, he's _really_ annoying."

"Fair's fair." He leant in for a quick kiss, but pulled back. "Wait. No hitting doesn't mean just more power pinching and squeezing, instead, okay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I have no response to that!"

Grinning, he raised one of her hands and threaded his fingers between hers. Brushed his thumb back and forth across their knuckles.

She studied their linked hands. "Fred and Gene, huh? Anything...else I should know about?"

His thumb paused, then resumed. "No. Nothing."

"So, Mikey Junior...?"

Oh, crap! Goddammit, how? Talking in his sleep? When-

_'Well, hellooo! Did I hear my name? I did, didn't I? And spoken in the dulcet tones of my doc. Yes, you. My scabbard. Finally, a formal introduction. To be honest, I've felt rather...used, after all this time, and well, intimate acquaintance. I'm Mikey. The cock of _his_ walk. Michael. Or, as I call him, The Hand. Oh, my god - do I sound like Stewie? I do, don't I? Stewie, the would-be matricidal baby? From that truly appalling cartoon he watches? The one that makes him laugh like a hyena? Genius, indeed! Idiot savant, maybe - with less of the savant, if you know what I mean. And you _do_! Oh, we're just so in sync, you and I. Or maybe he has Arseburger's-- Wait, one of my boys is telling me the correct term is Asperger's. Oh. Oh, it is - okay. Well, I suppose they'll expect me to prostrate myself in gratitude for that bit of help - as if! Honestly, Sara, with you around, I'm in far greater danger of suffering _whiplash_-- What? No, idiot, nobody called _you_ - I said prostrate - p.r.o.s.t.r.a.t.e.! Sorry about that - God, a bit of media attention, and he thinks our world revolves around _him_. Like he'd be missed much if he were suddenly whipped out - but if _I _was gone? Hah, just ask John Bobbit-'_

"Michael..."

"Uh, Mikey? No, no... Hadn't planned on calling any of mine that - it's way down on the list along with Wentworth."

_''_Bastard!_ First the months of sheer terror you put me through when you got us incarcerated in those hell holes, and now _this_? Denial? Well, Hand, if you think that I'm going to take this lying down, you've got another thing coming - and it won't be me! Lying down it is - no more rising to the occasion- '_

"No, that would be too many. Way too confusing with _three_ of you running around," she mused. "Not that _one_ of you actually runs. Very active - almost hyper - but no runner. Sometimes, more of a plodder...maybe, even dawdler- "

"Hey!"

_'Biiitch!'_

" -which can be wonderful. As you've so ably demonstrated, patience is a virtue, and concentration its own reward," she finished, primly, the effect totally ruined by her hand snaking down past his belly. Where it stopped. "Oh, I get it! it's not Mikey, it's _Mickey_ - as in Mickey Rooney! Of _course_, it would be him - he's another dancer. I'm sorry, Michael, I should've realised."

"Mickey Rooney's small."

"Yes, I'm afraid he is."

_'Wait, does she mean weeny Rooney? Oh, she has to die.'_

The snaking resumed until her hand reached its destination. Lingered. "Michael, have I ever told you what truly beautiful, round...orbs you have? Because you do. And they are." She watched his eyes, now heavy lidded, glazed, yet very intent. Leant in to whisper, felt his shiver, "And, oh, green it is..."

"Not for much longer - get moving or they'll definitely be blue- OW!"

_'God, I love you, Doc. All is forgiven. Hit him good. But, remember, not the knee - ever!'_

* * *

_Dear Seth McFarlane and all at Family Guy,  
It's all lies.  
Sincere apologies,  
A. Hyena_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17:** Commands  
**Summary:** Family. Always wise to know your place in the pecking order...

* * *

"Hey, Mike, have you seen my- Christ, what the fuck are _those_?"

"What do they look like?"

"Cheap, second-rate army surplus?"

"Goddammit, Michael, how many times do I have to tell you? These don't magically replace themselves! When you use the last- Oh..."

The brothers watched as Sara came to an abrupt halt, and bit her lip down on a grin.

"Um...Michael, when I joked- "

"You dared me to try commando."

"God, and _I'm_ frigging gone! Don't worry about dinner for me, guys, I'll find something in town."

"Aw, Lincoln, that's very thoughtful of you - especially as it's your turn to cook."

"Well, sorry, Doc, but I didn't have- Oh, funny fucking ha ha!" he clicked, catching their smirks.

"Going anywhere special, Linc?"

"Just thought I'd check out the newest boatload of tourists - see what I can rustle up. Anything's better than a poke in the eye..."

"Thank you for that disturbing image."

"I give in kind, bro - tit for tat. Heh. That expression, you two, so..." he trailed off, watching as both of their faces reddened. "Yeah, you know. Now, car keys, car keys... Where the frigging hell- Oh, right. Okay, later - don't wait up!"

"Wait, are you going like that, Linc?"

"What, now I get fashion advice from _you_? Wearing those?"

"Who used to have D&G in their closet?"

"What the hell is d and g?"

"I rest my case."

"Okay, Mr GQ! Yeah, I'm going out like this... "

"And you're sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yeah, _why_?"

"Your shirt's buttoned up."

"Oh, it is, too, Lincoln, I hadn't noticed!"

"Aw, missing the view, Doc? Hell, all you get to see these days is freaky pictures."

"Oh, no, it's okay - really. They're _way_ more interesting than a blank canvas," she reassured, sweetly.

"You know, Linc, the Tourism Board won't be very happy with you. Depriving its visitors of a well-known pectorial sight."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, so we all done here? Can I go? I'd like to make my choice from the widest selection."

Sara stared. Blinked. "Like a...buffet? A box of chocolates?"

"Yeah, and I like to know what I'm gonna get. Like the soft ones - sweet and _giving_. The harder ones are okay, too, but they're more likely to break your teeth."

"Right. So, we'll see you back home. Soon," Michael said, blandly. "Alone. Possibly minus a tooth."

"Oh, get fucked!"

"Will do. Your wish is my command." Michael followed his brother as he stomped out of the house. "Hey, good luck, Forrest!" he offered, then locked the door, looking pensive. "He misses Jane."

"You think so? No, you're probably right." She paused. "Wish she'd hurry back, before he does something he might regret. Would you miss me, if I had to go away for a while?"

"Depends."

"Oh, really? On?"

"How annoying you'd been prior to leaving. Are you planing on going?"

"Depends."

"On..."

"How annoying you've been to warrant the leaving."

He grinned and returned to her. "Fornication Under the Command of Lincoln," he mused. "FUCL. No, just not the same, is it?"

"'Fornication Under Command of the King'? That acronym's a myth. It's just a good, old, vulgar four-letter word."

"You forgot useful. Noun, adjective, verb, adverb..." he trailed off, noticing the direction of her gaze. "What?"

"Michael, why are you wearing army boxers?"

"Ah, no," he held up a finger. "Not merely army - _Commando_. And think of them as pyjamas."

"I don't want to think of them at all - even your butt can't overcome their ugliness. This isn't what I meant when I joked about going commando."

He grinned.

"Of course you knew," she sighed. "You do like messing with people's heads, don't you? Why is that? I mean, where's the fun, unless people know you're doing it?"

"But their ignorance of it doesn't negate its existence. Sometimes, my knowing it is enough," he admitted.

"You must've been a fun teenager." She remembered the empty carton she still held. "You did get more of these, didn't you?"

"Uh- "

"Why do I bother? I speak, nobody listens, I write lists, nobody reads. Seriously, name just one thing we've never run out of?"

"Condoms. And it was Linc's turn to for groceries."

"Like it was his turn for dinner?" she smirked. "And that's another thing, why do you deliberately annoy him?"

"Linc? I need a _reason_? It's just something else I like doing," he shrugged. "Besides, he's my brother. It's my duty as part of the- "

" -secret Little Brother League. Poor Linc."

"God, don't worry about him - he always gets his revenge. Somehow. But as my big brother, it's also my duty to do as he commands. Sometimes. When I like what I hear. Like just now, for instance..."

"Oh, absolutely. You might've noticed I also like teasing."

"I have, just not the way I prefer- " he laughed, quickly side-stepping her sweeping hand. "Hey, what happened to toning down your violence?"

"Now, I do remember _that_ discussion, and I'm supposed to spare Linc."

"So, it's spare the heir, not spare the spare- " he stopped at her look of slight puzzlement. "The heir and the spare? First-born? Second-born?"

"Oh, yeah. And, hell, no, screw the spare!"

"A spare screw. The spare approves. As long as it's not spare as in- "

"Did I ever tell you I had a GI Joe?" she interrupted, hastily. None of his tangents allowed, no distractions. Not with him looking the way he did. She'd been very wrong - the butt really was all-powerful.

"GI Joe? Why am I not surprised to hear that?"

"And I had a little crush on him. He was a gift from my dad. "

"Now, the crush surprises me. It's the uniform, isn't it? Always is," he lamented. "The whole authority figure- "

"First thing I'd do is rip it off."

"We're still talking about his uniform, right?"

"Now, here you stand - an idiot, true, but buzz cut, tattooed. My GI Joe risen. And you know the best thing about him?" she reminisced, reaching out an arm to run her fingers down a bare, pictorial chest, then along a low-slung waistband. "If I couldn't manipulate him, couldn't bend him the way I wanted- "

"I am pretty flexible."

" -I'd just yank him apart."

"Ah. So, you'd have gone through a few of him, then?"

"He was replaceable."

"Sara, Sara," he shook his head, disappointed. "Nice try, but that was just...sad. "

"Oh, shut up, and move- "

"Anyway, I thought I was Batman."

"_Batman_? You mean dark?"

"Mysterious."

"Morose?"

"Serious, contemplative."

"Know it all?"

"Resourceful."

"Thinks it's up to him to fix everything?"

Silence.

"Yeah, you're Batman," she agreed, quietly.

"Feels guilty because it's all his fault."

She looked at him, responded softly, "One day at a time, remember, Michael."

He nodded, eyes down, then suddenly looked up with a smile, "You could be Badgirl..."

"Wow. And you call _me_ sad? Anyway, in my present fantasy you're GI Joe, and he needs to get over here. We have the house to ourselves. Every room. For hours."

"_Hours_? Were you listening to Linc? He's starring in Gone for 60 Minutes."

"Whatever. Is Joe coming?"

"He hopes to, shortly."

"Guaranteed," she assured, hooking a finger into that waistband and pulling.

"As always, I'm yours to command- FUCL!"

"You forgot expletive..."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18:** Frontiers  
**Summary:** New ones. Final ones. Space. The imagination and...stuff.  
**Author's note:** Vague allusions to _'The Princess Bride'. _Very vague. Almost inconceivable.

* * *

"So, can you..." Sara trailed off, and sighed, noticing his distraction. God, he had the attention span of a gnat, at times.

Michael slowly stroked her spine - fingers up and down, along each vertabrae. He marvelled at the human body's ability to regenerate. Recycle. Renew. Constantly under construction. Like an airport, he mused, but without the attendant hassle: _"We apologise for the disruption. Please bear with us for the next two years while we complete Stage 267 of this facility."_ The six _billion_ dollar terminal - bigger, better, faster. The Interminable.

With the worsening energy crisis, he wondered if its kind could come to an end. Or diminish in size, at least - shrinking monuments to twenty-first century living. He imagined a world forced to slow down, to accommodate itself to the calmer, gentler pace of rail and sail. The return to glory of the grand old stations. Not that Chicago's Union Station was ever _not_ busy! He remembered its constant bustle when, as teenagers, he and Linc tried to re-create the famous shoot-out scene from _'The Untouchables'_. Dodging and escaping the suspicious guards. He smiled, wryly. They'd even roped poor Vee into joining them:

_"What? No!"  
"C'mon, Vee, it'll be fun- "  
"God, how old are you? They'll catch us!"  
"Nah! Have you seen the size of some of 'em? And those guns are heavy'!"  
"But suppose they do? Mike, make him- "  
"Don't waste your time - it was St. Michael's idea!"_

"Happy or sad?"

"Oh, both, I guess," he shrugged. "Memories." His fingers returned to their stroking, along the bumpy line of her spine. Clickety clack, like a railroad track...

"You know, if your eyes really were lasers, I'd be dead."

He grinned. "Did _you_ know..."

She smiled, waiting for a deluge of fifty facts. Closed her eyes, imagining their kids with a deluge of fifty _questions._

"...that some parts of your body aren't as old as you are?"

"Regeneration? Yeah, I guess blood's a classic example. Red cells only have a short life-span - one of the reasons why banks always need fresh supplies."

"Mmmm. But other parts, too - take your skeleton- "

"I'd collapse."

"Ha. It's only ever about ten years old. Constantly re-building itself - a new skeletal system on a ten year cycle. Amazing. Imagine the framework, the skeleton, of a building able to regenerate like that? To renovate, strengthen, right itself? No stress fractures, no metal fatigue..."

"You miss it."

"What?" he looked at her. "Oh. No, not- Well, yeah, occasionally."

"When you look at me. Because, strangely, I remind you of buildings."

"Trust me, Sara," he laughed, smoothing his hands down her form - his favourite amalgam of beauty and function, "I never designed anything as lovely."

"I'm sure you did, in its own way - but nice of you to say so."

"Well, I'm a nice guy, supposedly. One of the nicest around."

"Uh huh."

"Such wifely endorsement."

"I'm all about you. So, what about the brain? How old is that?"

"It ages with you."

"Huh, not sure about everybody's. Take Lincoln- "

"Do I have to?"

"Well. Mr Nice Guy didn't stick around for long."

"_Supposedly_ Mr Nice Guy," he corrected.

"Oh, good, so you'll have no qualms helping me get Linc. Get him good."

Michael glanced at her, amused. "The Queen of Retribution needs _my_ help? What's he done now?"

"Now?" she snorted. "Try any available opportunity! Practical jokes, sabotage... Ever since _your_ moratorium on hitting. He knows, doesn't he?"

"Awww, is Linc being mean to poor Sara?"

"You're _mocking_ me?"

"Would I dare?" he asked, impassively.

"Because I could hurt you," she confided, sitting up straighter against the headboard. "In ways you wouldn't dream of. And wouldn't leave a mark." She looked at him, challengingly, "I know things. Great pain..."

"Like a machine?"

"Don't start, Michael."

"Finish to the pain?"

"That could be arranged. If you persist."

"I'm sure it could. Just wondering - and not doubting the quality of your work, in any way - but would these methods be more painful than having your toes chopped off without anaesthetic? Or having, say, your skin flayed off by hot steam?"

"Oh, please, try having a baby!"

"Hell, no, not _that_ again - no descriptions, Sara! Anyway, how would you know how that feels- " he broke off, taken aback at her sudden contemplation. Distraction. Oh... "Sara, you haven't- " he stopped.

"Haven't what?"

"Had- lost a baby? Because- "

"What? Oh, no, Michael - _no_. I'm just trying to...imagine what it must be like."

"You're a doctor, haven't you seen women in labour?"

"Well, yeah, but not that many. And I meant the _pain_ not the process."

"Oh." He glanced down. "Well, it's always amazed me it comes out of such a small- "

"Michael."

He looked up, grinning unrepentantly.

"I'm sure you know everything gets bigger, to accommodate."

"Uh huh," he acknowledged, looking skeptical. "Still..."

"C'mon, Michael, you're the engineer - and a man. You understand the concepts of expansion, dilation, contraction - wait, what's the male equivalent? Shrinkage?" she grinned, unrepentantly.

"Oh, I understand the logistics, but it must still hurt like hell. A _lot_ of pain. Not to the death, of course. In fact, to the life- "

"Don't..."

Smiling, he let his hand wander again.

"This research you did on the body's age, did it mention...?" she glanced down his body.

"No. Too hard to gauge, you think? I mean, you'd have to factor in overuse, wear and tear. Lot of miles on some of them. And a _lot_ of abuse- OW! What? Feet get lots- "

"Feet?"

"Yeah, what else would I mean?" he asked, blandly.

She glanced at him. Oh, that smirk? Had to go. Lock and load. "The vagina isn't actually 'empty'."

On cue, the stroking and smirking slowed to a stop, like a child's wind-up toys.

"No," she continued, helpfully. "And it isn't a vacuum. A space just waiting to be filled, like an empty room or chair- "

"Am I going to be tested on this later?" he interrupted, unhappily.

"Maybe. What's wrong? I thought you liked anatomy lessons?"

"Yeah, but mine were _fun_."

"Are you saying my vagina isn't fun, Michael?"

"No! God, no, the most fun, ever!"

"If you think about it, this is as much about physics as anatomy. Like I said, it isn't a vacuum, but more of a 'potential' space. It's normally closed in, so it actually has to, uh, make room for whatever is trying to fill it."

Michael's shoulders slumped, and he buried his head in her cotton-covered belly.

"What? You're muttering..."

"Closed in? As in no space. Are you trying to tell me there's no room at the inn?"

"Oh, for a special guest," she laughed. "But not always."

"I prefer resident."

"I don't."

"So, why not- " At her raised eyebrow, he stopped and felt his face redden. "Oh... Right. Sorry."

He suddenly frowned, and Sara watched with interest as his eyes narrowed in concentration. And she sighed, realising that he'd always just...know, now. Keep track. It was always likely to happen, but still. Another slice of privacy lost to propinquity. Time for some boundaries.

"Sara, do you think you could've- "

"I'm really not comfortable...you know, the bathroom thing," she cut in. "Peeing. With people around."

Already trying to quieten his racing thoughts, Michael stopped and blinked. Wow. Conversation stopper. "Uh, okay. I don't think I ever have been, but good to know."

"Maybe one day. But probably never."

He leant on his elbow, puzzled. "It's okay, Sara."

"Unless you're hogging the bathroom and I'm dying to go."

"_I_ don't hog."

"Uh huh. So, we agree - the bathroom is a private space?"

"Absolutely. _'..a fine and private space. But none, I think do there embrace..._'" (1)

"Oh, the shower's exempt."

"But the shower's in the bathroom."

"Doesn't count."

"What, bathing isn't private? And here I was thinking no more door creeping open, dawn attacks- "

"I never heard a 'no'."

"Well, as you recently pointed out, I _am_ a man." He studied her face, slightly nonplussed. "Trust me, I'm not big on the whole communal thing, either. Closed door policy, Sara - unless _you're_ hogging," he teased.

She didn't respond, torn between feeling like an idiot and needing to explain herself. She knew their relationship was nothing like her previous ones, but still, better to have certain things out in the open. Cards on the table. They'd yet to do anything like that. For the most part, things - they - had just slotted into place so...easily, as if they'd been together for a long time. Adjusting along the way, as they'd needed to. The simplicity of it all surprised her, to the point where she'd sometimes feel the need to pinch herself as a reality check. She'd watch him outside with the others, feeling awash with contentment at the knowledge that this really was her life now. Astonishment that all of them had made it to this point.

Yet, still so much to learn.

She finally reached for his hand. "I'm not trying to be precious, Michael, it's just that...I lived on my own for a long time. But, even if I hadn't, there's close and, well- "

"I understand."

"I don't think I'm being uptight. And just because two people are together doesn't mean you have to- "

"Whoa!" he drew back, feeling like he'd taken a sudden wrong turn. "Why do I feel like I've walked into somebody else's argument? And which dreg am I supposed to be?"

She closed her eyes, briefly shutting out his wary expression. "I'm sorry. Put it down to, I don't know," she shrugged, "my only-child syndrome? Not used to sharing?" She paused, playing with his fingers. "Truth is, I've always been a private person, Michael. And I need space, personal space. Boarding school, cramped quarters, boyfriends, nothing has ever lessened that need."

"Got it. Why do you say it like it's some terrible character defect that should be changed?"

She glanced at him, then gazed out into the dark night. Midnight blue - she loved that colour. "I've always found that, when people are...together, there's been this expectation of complete sharing. Openness." She paused. "I'm not explaining this well. Forget I said anything."

He studied her face, wishing he could spend five minutes with those people. "No, I get it. And screw all that. I don't need you to cross any personal boundary as some proof of your feelings, Sara. Some test of how open and comfortable we are with each other. I don't want you giving up any part of who you are."

"Then, you don't think I'm being silly?"

"God, Sara, because you need privacy? No, never. I _am_ disappointed you felt you had to spell this out. Have I ever done- "

"No. Honestly, Michael, just forget it. I mean it- "

"No, I don't think so. And it's not about bathrooms, is it?" At the shake of her head, he continued, "You know, I really believe it's the little boundaries - civilities - that help to keep close proximity bearable, especially in the beginning. For those of us who need space, anyway. Not that anything about you is unbearable. Oh, wait, there's- " He smiled, rubbing his wounded arm. "I'll try not to crowd you, but if you feel I am, tell me."

She settled back and watched as his expression relaxed into stillness.

"We're on the same page. You know how I feel about you, Sara, but trust me, I don't want to spend every waking moment _with_ you. I'm pretty private, myself- What, you've noticed? Fair enough," he smiled at her snort. "And, by the way, engineers? Generally, not people people."

"Hey, I remember you as students - party animals!"

"Ah. Yes, the storm before the calm, letting off steam before settling down to our worlds of precision and structure."

"Did you do any of that?"

"Hell, yeah," he admitted, grinning at more fond memories. "But after that... Hey, you know how to spot the extrovert in a roomful of engineers? He'll be the one looking down at _other_ people's shoes."

"Oh, now that's mean- "

"That's nothing!"

She looked at him, weighing up these little grams of information. "I know prison was hell for you, just not how much."

"Yes. Some more than others," he shrugged. "New codes, new boundaries. Crap sheets. But I was lucky, I had Fernando. And others." He squeezed her hand, "No more hell than it would've been for anybody. For you."

"No," she admitted, "but remand is slightly better than Gen.Pop."

"Safe to say that privacy and personal space are luxuries we've both learnt to treasure even more," he finished, softly.

"Safe to say."

"You know, in some countries, the toilet's a separate room. If you want, Linc and I could do some more renovations, add- "

"It's okay, Michael," she laughed, "Like you said, it's not really about bathrooms. I'm happy."

"Are you? So am I," he agreed, looking at her, steadily, then frowning. "We've never really done this before - cards on the table stuff."

"No, we haven't."

"It's all felt so..."

"Easy?"

"Yes. I'd always assumed living with someone meant a certain level of...friction. Re-adjustment. Independent adults and all that."

"Well, it's still early days, but trust me, this _isn't_ the usual. Not in _my_ experience."

"Wow. Us. Not normal. Imagine..."

She laughed and sat back, relaxing into the quiet of the night.

"Michael, how did we get here?"

"Big question for this late hour."

"Not existentially! Here - what we've been talking about? I'm too tired to figure it out," she finished, stifling a yawn.

He lay down and retraced their conversation until he found the fork in the road that had led them down this particular path. And it all clicked. "That would be the closed sign at the inn," he replied, quietly. "Sara, I'm _not_ trying to keep tabs, but it has been several weeks since that, uh, sign has gone up. Any chance you might've been- "

"No, Michael," she interrupted, firmly. "None. And it's probably just as well, the way things are, huh?"

"Yeah," he agreed, flatly. "Still, imagine..."

"I know." She smoothed her hand down his newly shorn head, fingers stroking down his cheek, to those lips with that scar she still hadn't asked him about. So many questions. So much to learn.

She kissed him softly, before sliding down, and settling on his chest, arm stretched out across his stomach. "But no rush, right? Went has lots of time to make his appearance. Anne, too. And if they're like their father, they'll have their plans all in place."

"Went?"

"Yeah, I can't see anybody calling him Wentworth- "

"That's because it won't be his name. I like Anne, though."

"See? Easy. And don't worry, Went will grow on you."

"Like mould? And why do I get the feeling that _'easy' _just means doing it _your_ way?"

"Because you're brilliant?"

As she slid into sleep, he stroked her hair, pondering his fleeting sense of disappointment. Reflecting on Sara's own recent mood, he suspected it was a feeling they shared. But as she'd said, the way things were - his status, their full house - it was just as well. He smiled picturing Linc's face if they'd told him they needed more room. And why. Good get.

Of course, once Linc did move out, they would have the space. And, therefore, the potential. Potential space.

"Sara?" he whispered.

No response.

Smiled and pulled her closer. "I promise I'll look only at your shoes."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

* * *

(1) Andrew Marvell, _To His Coy Mistress_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19:** The Hidden  
**Summary:** Sitting in a tree. T.a.l.k.i.n.g.  
**A/N:** Translations at chapter's end.

* * *

He loved his secret hideaway. Remembered the first time he'd seen it. He'd just stood there, gazing upwards, his arms and legs curiously aching. A phantom aching for something he hadn't even realised he missed. And why would he have? There weren't a lot of trees where he'd grown up. Nor a lot opportunities for climbing them if there had been.

He'd nodded away as Sara had extolled the benefits of the house in comparison to the others they'd inspected. Happy that she'd liked it. She could have it. He wanted the tree. Of course, nobody knew _that_. Knew that he'd bought a house because of a tree. Only an idiot would do that. Wait, no. A moron...

Adjusting his legs, he leant back and inhaled deeply, lungs filling with the rich, musky odour of ripening fruit and cool dampness. He spanned his fingers across the branch above, admiring its lines. He'd never really considered structure and fluidity in nature. Had dealt mostly in the concrete. The solid. Inanimate. _Not_ that trees weren't both of those things. They did move, though - just not...between places.

Unless they were Ents, of course.

God, he loved that book. He closed his eyes, picturing the broken-spine, dog-eared copy which had occupied pride of place on his crowded bookcase. Remembering the hours of quiet peacefulness that it - all of those printed, bound companions - had brought him. He hoped they had found a good home. Weren't locked away as evidence in some FBI warehouse or basement. He smiled, remembering _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. Countless _X-Files_ episodes.

Ah, well - all gone.

The tips of his fingers caught on rough bark as he flexed them, calculating the branch's girth. Maybe, these days, he would turn his hands to designing, creating, within the natural world. Landscaping-

"Uncle Mike? You out here?"

Damn. He shimmied down a bit and poked his head through some leaves. "Hi, LJ!"

"Wow, _this_ is your hideaway? Kinda old for climbing trees, aren't you?"

"Feel free to show me your prowess."

LJ climbed, arriving slightly out of breath. "Shit, didn't realise what a fuck- frig- freakin' big tree it is!"

"Whose son are you?" Michael grinned. He looked up, surveying the tree's cool interior, shadows and light limning its branches. Dust motes caught like dancing stars in the rays streaking through the dimness. "I didn't climb these much when I was a kid..." He hesitated, then continued, "Don't tell anybody, but I bought the house for this tree."

"Yeah, I'd be embarrassed to tell anybody that, too!" LJ smirked, then admitted, sheepishly, "I never climbed a lot, either."

"No, not the greenery you were into."

"Uncle Mike!"

"I've been thinking of building a tree house."

"Oh, man, second childhood, already? Crap, that means Dad must be well into it."

"Can you just...warn me if you're going to tell him that?"

"Chicken!"

"And still breathing! Anyway, _this_ wouldn't be just any tree house. I envisage it as almost a...part of the tree. You've seen pictures of houses built into cliffs? Rock?"

"Like the Shire? Bag End?"

Michael looked up, head cocked. "Ah, so _that's_ where it disappeared to last summer."

"I brought it back! And it was already all beaten up- "

"Hey, it's okay - I said you could borrow anything as long as it wasn't in my room. Or plugged in."

"Harsh, man! Anyway, I guess you mean a real place? Like that old city in...Syria? No, wait, Jordan."

"Petra."

"Yeah, all red and carved out and stuff. Be awesome to go there."

"Never know, maybe one day. Anyway, the house would flow into - or rather out of - the tree, kind of belong. Symbiosis..."

LJ smiled, listening to his uncle's voice, watching his hands talking.

" ...kids to play in. And adults to hide away in- "

"Ha, knew there'd have to be a bedroom somewhere- OW! Shit, Uncle Mike, whose husband are _you_?"

"Shut up and have a mango." He climbed an outer branch and returned with a couple. "Fruit of the gods - good for you!"

"So, in this tree house," LJ queried, minutes later, looking intently at his mango, "would there be a room for me?"

"Always," Michael assured, nudging him with his foot. "You don't ever have to ask that."

LJ nodded, and they ate for a while in companionable silence.

"Here, you'll probably need this."

"What the- Floss." LJ looked at the small package in disbelief. "Seriously, you've got _floss_? Up a _tree_?"

"Yeah, well, experience. Gifts from the gods usually come with a price - and these definitely have strings attached. Annoying ones."

He looked at his uncle with puzzled wonderment. "You really do think of everything, don't you?"

Michael smiled, wryly. "I wish."

"What, no serviettes?"

"Wow, maybe you're not my brother's son!"

"Just checking," LJ smirked back, as they put their shirt sleeves to time-honoured use.

"Lincoln looms large..."

"You know, Uncle Mike, I've never really thanked you. For, well, everything- "

Michael dropped the stripped seed to the ground. "Don't. Please. I could've- should've done a lot more to help you, LJ, and a lot more quickly," he confessed, solemnly. "But I became distracted- No, make that focused. Intent on- "

"Helping Sara? Well, no shit! Don't forget, I also had Dad looking out for me, Uncle Mike. She only had you."

Michael nodded. "Thanks, but it still didn't make it right. You were family."

"Yeah, well, who says who's family?" LJ shrugged. "I figured she became that the minute you started caring for her."

"When did you get so smart?"

"I'm my uncle's nephew," he grinned. "Or so I've been told. And when I said thanks, I meant for everything, even before, you know...stuff started happening. All the times you let me stay with you, being there for me."

"You're welcome, LJ. It wasn't much - a key to my apartment, some bills paid- "

"Aw, man, your place was awesome - you had the best stuff! I remember the sheets..."

"Oh, yeah!" Michael laughed. "I'm glad that any of it helped. That it gave you - and your mom - a break. I'm sorry she- I'm sorry you had to lose her. Lisa was a good woman."

"Yeah, she was. Adrian was a good man, too. Funny how some things are a lot clearer now."

"Tragedy's a shit way to gain perspective, isn't it?" Michael observed, very quietly. "And you know, LJ, the favours weren't all one-sided - you helped me, too. Being a conduit to my brother - keeping me informed. The channels open."

LJ studied him, pensively. "Do you come up here to escape?"

"Yes."

"From Sara?"

"At times."

"From the rest of us?"

Michael shrugged. "I just...need to be alone, sometimes."

"Yeah. Some people don't understand solitude."

"No. They don't..."

LJ smirked, "Message received, loud and clear."

"I didn't mean- "

"Yeah, you did!"

"Like I said, smart kid!"

Grabbing onto a branch, LJ readied himself for descent. "You know, when you decide on that tree house, I'm sure Dad would help out. And I could, too. If I'm not busy - which I probably will be. And only if I don't have anything better to do."

"That goes without saying. Thanks for offering. And, LJ, anytime you want to talk or escape, there's always a free limb up here. _Mi arbor_-- "

"_Árbol_ - man, your Spanish is still crap!"

"I lounge corrected. _Mi árbol es tu árbol'_?"

"Better, but you're never gonna be as good as me."

Michael smiled, broadly. "Apparently not. And I'll remember your offer - but only if you're not busy. Which you probably will be." He watched his nephew swing down to a lower branch. "Hey, LJ? You were looking for me, before - any particular reason?"

"Well, Aunt Sara- "

"You do like riding the ragged edge of disaster, don't you! Does she know you call her that?"

"Nah, but she likes me- "

"You really think that would save you?"

" -and I can do what I want."

"So young, so much to learn," Michael shook his head, sadly.

"You're just saying that cause you're old."

"Yeah? Well, this old bird caught the worm."

"And Sara's the worm? _Now_ who's riding the edge?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure she likes me, too. But as wise old birds have done throughout the ages, let's just keep this to ourselves?"

"Just like the old days? Deal."

"So, no particular reason?"

His nephew glanced up and smiled. "Nah. No reason." And disappeared inside.

"That's the best kind." Arm behind his head, Michael stretched out and mused fluently, _"Mi mujer, mi família, mi hogar, mi árbol... De veras, soy un hombre feliz."_

"I can see you, Michael - what the hell are you doing up there?"

_"Ay. Mierda."_

"If you think I'm going to fix your sorry broken ass if you fall, think again. And about- "

"But, Sara, our clinic sessions are always so...memorable." He slowly started climbing down. "And why do you doubt my nimbleness? You know my ability to scale the heights, cling to slopes. How very good I am at hugging limbs."

" -this tree. It's too big. It should probably be cut- Wait, what? Memorable?"

He quickly swung and dropped from a few branches high. "Cut _down_?! Over my dead body!"

"Well. That _would_ be an unfortunate end to those memorable sessions. Guess it's just as well I love trees - and that mangoes are my favourite fruit."

He looked over to see Sara grinning, her lips and fingers coated in mango juice. "I'm going to- "

"Yeah, whatever. Bring it on. If you can. Totally worth it - never seen you move so fast. And that last part? Batmanesque..."

"Speaking of which, I've seen a couple really high up, in the top branches. Care to look?"

"Over _my_ dead body!"

"Wow, never seen you move so fast!" he called out. "And that last part? Bat out of hell- Oh." He looked down, idly watching her mangled, half-eaten fruit slide down his shirt. Damn, she was good. "Hey, the Cubs are scouting for relief - want me to call?"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

* * *

- _árbol_: tree  
- _mi árbol es tu árbol_: my tree is your tree  
- _Mi mujer, mi família, mi hogar, mi árbol... De veras, soy un hombre feliz_: My wife, my family, my home, my tree...I really am a fortunate man.  
- _Ay. Mierda_: Oh. Crap.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20:** Because  
**Summary:** Beach. And beers. And brothers. Oh, my...

* * *

Linc frowned at his brother. "You know, Mike, I still don't see how that's- "

"But it's as plain as a pikestaff!"

"What the fuck's that?"

"Oh, nothing," Michael looked away. "Uh, Sara and I have been...visiting the past, lately."

"Visiting the past?"

"Yes. Past? As in not the present- "

"Oh, thank you, Einstein! Recent past or- "

"Distant."

"But not distant distant? Like all that ancient Roman and Greek stuff?"

"No- "

"Cause they had all that orgy and fucking weird shit, man, and I really don't need to know."

"Like I'd tell- "

"Wouldn't need to - picture would just be in my head and friggin' weirding me out! But, doesn't matter, cause you're not, so it's all good."

"Well, as long as you're happy, Lincoln..."

"Fuckin' A. So, explain again."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Okay, what you're saying is you did what you did, because I'd done what I did?"

"Yeah."

"But you wouldn't have been able to do what you did, if I hadn't done what I did?"

"Right."

"My head hurts."

"Beer," Michael laughed.

Linc downed the last of his. "Reciprocity, huh? Tit for tat. Heh- "

"Don't start," Michael said, mildly.

"Let's see if I've got this straight - or straight as you see it: I got you the money, which you used to study engineering, which ended up giving you the know-how to get me out jail, where I'd ended up because of all the shit I got into getting you that money in the first place."

"Vicious circles and infinity..."

"Not helping the head!"

"Yeah, that's it in a nutshell. More or less."

"Fucking big nut!" Linc glared at the empty bottle. "I guess payback's not always a bad thing."

"No. Actually, it's one of those neutral words that just acquire negative- "

"Don't start!" Linc cut in, less mildly.

Michael grinned and tossed him another beer.

"Thank Christ for that weird brain of yours, bro'. If you'd studied medicine, I'd've been screwed!"

"That has occurred to me..."

"So, is this what you told Mahone when he asked?"

"More or less."

"What'd the bastard say?"

"Oh, he understood. Too well. Then he...re-worded the question- "

"Let me guess," Linc filled in, quietly. "Would you've done any of it, if I _had_ murdered Steadman or whoever the hell it was?"

Michael nodded. "He understood my answer to that even better. Because it's all about family. We're two sides of the same coin, he reckoned - both heads..."

"Michael, you're not- "

"My answer remained yes, Linc. Because, ultimately, whatever you did or didn't do, you would've still been in Fox River because of me. What you did for me- "

"For Christ's sake, Michael, you're my little brother," Linc sighed. "I didn't do anything for you expecting re-payment! What _you_ did- "

"And you're my big brother. And I didn't do what I did to be re-paid."

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the sea. Picking out the sounds of their lives. The slight slap of waves against the hull of Christina Rose II. The crunch of tyres as Sara got in from the clinic.

"Oh, shit, already! Whose turn to cook?"

The mangling of chords from LJ's guitar.

"New girl?"

"Conchita," Linc rolled his eyes.

"Wow, the apple really does not fall far from the tree."

The distant shrieking of a baby's bath time.

"That girl's got a set of lungs on her - definitely Sucre's kid!"

"With her mother's looks."

"Sometimes things do work out right..." Linc trailed off. "Mike, I know this life of ours" he swept an arm 180 degrees, "came at a fucking high price. All the pain, suffering. Death," he looked away. "I guess that's all down to me, too, if you- "

"No! That was me - my plan, my execution of it- "

"You're not god, Michael! A lone ranger- Shit, you believe you can control every frigging thing you're involved in, every step of- "

"That's not true!"

"Maybe not any more... " He stared at his brother. "You think you can somehow get payback for all of them, too? Reciprocity? Are you going to try?"

Michael looked away, sipping his lukewarm beer.

"You're not- You're not gonna do anything stupid, are you?"

Michael stared back. "What- No! No, I- "

"There are too many people who love you, Michael - don't throw- "

"I'm not going to, Linc. I've discovered I'm too selfish to lose all that. Them. Besides, I think- No, I know there's nothing I could do. Not really. Sara and I have talked about this and..."

"Go on."

"There are some sacrifices that can't be repaid," he said, flatly, head down. "Mistakes that can never be corrected. Sins for which there's no expiation. Sometimes, there is no re-dressing, no balancing of the books." He looked up. "And you just have to accept that and carry on. Realising that you are where you are, what you are, because of those things. Honour the sacrificed by living the best life that you can. Just...live. And hope that it gets easier each day."

"Are we doing that, Mike?"

"Yeah, I think so so. Most of the time."

"And what about the guilt?" Linc asked, abruptly. "Not about everything that happened. I mean, the guilt when you realise that you're...happy. That you haven't thought about them for a few days. And that you're- "

"Starting to forget what they looked like?"

"You, too?"

"I always wanted a photographic memory," Michael replied, sadly. "I don't know - maybe it's all part and parcel of grieving. And living. Moving on..."

"The price you pay."

"Yeah."

"We don't even have any pictures, Mike. Not one."

"I know, Linc. Maybe Jane could..."

"I'll ask."

They sat quietly, finishing the last of the beer, before heading up to the house.

"Lone ranger?"

"Yeah."

"I thought I was Batman."

"Same diff. They both hide behind their masks," Linc smirked, shooting his brother a telling look. "Dunno what that'd make me, though... Not frigging Robin, anyway!"

"Tonto?"

"Guess so. Wait, doesn't that mean- Oh, fucking hilarious! Yeah, you run, Michael - like a girl! And if I'm Tonto, guess that makes you MeNoSabe!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

_Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,  
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.  
No one can find the rewind button boys,  
So cradle your head in your hands,  
And breathe, just breathe..._

_-_Anna Nallick_, Breathe (2am)_

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:** Inference  
**Summary:** Inference & Implication. Yin & Yang. Coffee & Chocolate. Some things exist only in tandem. Or ought to...

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He loved this.

He loved his tree, too. And the beach. But this? This was his favourite. Sometimes, he wished he could stay forever. Then again, maybe not. He'd get uncomfortable. And hungry. Thirsty, too. Okay, maybe just stay for-

"...heavy."

He raised his head, reluctantly. "Hmmm..."

"I said you're getting- "

"Ah. Sorry..." And started moving off.

"No, no, don't go, yet. I meant you're, you know, getting...heavy."

"Oh. It's muscle."

"Sure it is. Mine's water retention."

"What, all of it? Not that I've noticed anything!" he added hastily. "And if I had - which I haven't - I wouldn't care. Or even mention it. I'd just appreciate that there's more of you to go around."

"Like a lamppost."

"Well, no. But if I were to mean it in that way, I suppose I'd have to say more like a tree. After all, if you were getting bigger- Owww..." He reached behind to rub. "No injuring on a hypothetical!"

"Your ass is many things, Michael, but hypothetical isn't one of them, trust me. It exists as a firm reality."

"Yet, you mistreat it."

"True, but then I'm a reality, too, and you know what they say about her being a bitch." She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his quiet laughter. "Are you sure you even want to handle hypotheticals? You're pretty inferior at inferences."

"I can't infer what isn't there."

"What do you call 'you're getting heavy'?"

"An imperfect implication- "

"Crappy inferring."

" -as demonstrated by my starting to move off, because that's what I thought you meant. "

"Yet, you're still here."

"Back by popular demand."

He moaned at her chuckle, lowering his head to her shoulder. Keeping an arm around her waist, he rolled off to the side. "Do you think we're strange?" he mused, her hip a magnet to his stroking fingers.

"I take it this is the royal 'we'?"

"Oh, no, it's definitely the inclusive. Why?" he asked, at her affronted look. "Don't you think you're at all strange? Obviously, _I_ am."

"Only in wonderful ways," she assured, stroking a finger along his eyebrows. "Mostly. But me? No, I've never really thought of myself as strange. Just normal, I guess, ordinary..."

"There's nothing ordinary about you, Sara. And some people would think it strange that someone with your background - educated, privileged - became a drug addict- "

"You know that kind of criteria has nothing to do with drug addiction, Michael."

"Yes, but some might. I'm sure most of them, however, would find it strange that a hot, young doctor chose to work - lock herself away - in a men's prison."

"Maybe." She paused to consider. "So, you mean strange by societal norms? Then, I guess I'd have to say yes. A little." She caught his hand and started playing with its fingers. Those lovely, long fingers that filled her with...much happiness. And deep foreboding anywhere near tools. "You already knew what I looked like, didn't you? Before we first met at Fox River?"

He blinked. Torn between startled wariness and wanting to smile at her description of their first encounter. As if it they'd met at some function from the privileged life to which he'd just ascribed her. "Yeah. I had a...couple of photos," he admitted, wariness winning.

She nodded, his words expected, yet still disappointing. Why, when she knew that he'd arrived at Fox River as prepared as possible? Which, for him, meant very. No surprises allowed.

"Sara? You look- "

"It's nothing," she shrugged.

He drew her in more closely. "Tell me."

"I guess, we- " She sighed. "When we met- What are you smiling at?"

"Later. Go on..."

"When you first walked into the infirmary, I felt this- Forget it, it's stupid- "

"Talk!"

"Okay, okay. This sense of...surprise, and a kind of, well, stillness. As if everything had quietly slowed down. For a moment of significance." She paused, considering her next words, trying to temper her aggrieved sadness. "But I realise, now, that it isn't something we share. That very first time that so many couples do. Because you already knew what I looked like. I wasn't a surprise to you. Not that I'm saying you would've felt the same even if you hadn't known," she began rambling, "I mean, I'm sure it was just me. You probably didn't think - or feel - anything much. Not till later..."

He loved Sara's ramblings, but not when accompanied by a discernible embarrassment, a sad tone. "I did, though, Sara," he explained, quietly. "The same surprise. The moment in time. And, by the way, you did know what I looked like. You had my prison file, remember? With my photo."

"Yeah, but they're crap - worse than passport shots! There's no way one of those could've prepared me for seeing you in- Oh..." she smiled, sheepishly. "Right. Point taken. Sorry, my synapses aren't firing."

"Don't apologise - I blew them away."

"Actually, I did - you just benefitted from my labour."

"Okay, we're going to finish this conversation first, and then we're getting back to _that_!"

"Promises, promises..."

"Absolutely." He turned on his side to face her, look directly into her eyes. "Sara, when I walked into Fox River, I did know what you looked like. I knew a hell of a lot more about you than you probably realise. But my knowledge was based only on two dimensional images, black and white sequences of words. Nothing could've prepared me for the absolute reality of you. Nothing. And once I realised, well, I- "

"Michael."

" -zeroed in on you like a heat-seeking missile."

"God, you're so romantic."

"I can only work with what I'm given- Hey, I felt that!"

"Good, you have some sensitivity."

"Sara, you expect so much from just a simple, practical engineer."

"Mmm... Thought we'd already had that discussion. Anyway, thank you. For restoring my moment."

"Our moment." He played with her fingers for a while, before bringing them to his smirking lips. "So, was it long before you wanted to have your wicked, bad girly way with me?"

"Hah, you wish!"

"So much it would scare you. You know our appointments were the best part of my day, don't you? They helped keep me sane. I also dreaded them, though," he confided, looking up at the slowly whirling fan. "Needed to prepare myself before each one. You...affected me, and I had to hide that. Good thing, I'd gotten used to hiding. Still, despite everything, I'd be happy going to see you."

"I know. Me, too. And, you know, sometimes, your happiness did um, manifest itself- " She stopped at his look of horror. "No, it's-"

"Christ!" He sat up. "Shit! _Fuck_! Frigging _hell_...!"

Startled, she listened as he continued his impressive, seldom used, litany of obscenities. Wow. Spot the Burrows! "Honestly, Michael, it's okay - perfectly normal," she interrupted, trying to ease what she realised was his acute embarrassment. "A male-dominated environment, few women. A lot of my patients- " She stopped at his glare, realising she was making things worse.

"_What?_" He hated this. Hated that he might've embarrassed her, hated that he hadn't been able to remain in control of himself. Mikey. He'd have wrung his neck, except he'd enjoy it. More than anything, though, he realised he hated that he'd been like the rest of _them_. The real cons...

He felt the brush of her hands, and slumped back down on his back, smiling ruefully. "Wow. Sorry. And to think, on the way to you, I'd be reciting the periodic table of the elements, picturing the most unappealing things I could. Those meditation classes really sucked."

"I only noticed your happiness a couple of times," she smiled.

"Okay, then, they didn't completely suck."

"And it was only with you that I felt at all flattered. Even tempted. And sad. But safe, because I knew you'd never try anything."

"I'm sorry. For all of that. And...everything."

"In the past."

He stroked her back for a while, in silence. "Okay, back to that other conversation."

"Oh, right - what was all that about us being strange?"

"No, the other one."

"Uh-uh, strange first."

"I guess it just occurred to me that the...conversations we end up having after, you know..." he wafted a hand through the air between them.

"Oh, you mean the aprés sex dissection? Post-coital dissemination?"

"God, you're so romantic."

"Engineers don't hold a monopoly on practicality. Pillow talk, then?"

"Much better." He watched the hypnotic whirling of the fan blades. "I mean, grammar? Language? How normal is that? What did you and the dregs talk about? Wait, I don't want to know."

"Too late. We'd- Not a lot, really. They'd often fixate on their next hit. When could I score them more- "

"Sara."

"It's okay, Michael. I'm not proud of it, but it's part of who I am - no use pretending otherwise." She drifted her fingers down his arm. "You? What pearls of wisdom did you and the bimbos exchange?"

"Well, pearls might've cropped up, actually. They liked to talk about shopping. Things. Which they would like to buy. Or, rather, have bought for them."

"I'm ashamed for my sex. It's kind of sad, in a way. Occasions of intimacy, and we both ended being treated as...suppliers. Providers."

He looked across at her and smiled, slowly. "You know, I really don't think I have a problem with being strange."

"Me neither," she teased.

"And grammar's great."

"If grammar be the food of love, parse on. But there is a time for talk," she reminded him, dragging his arm across her middle, "and a time for action."

"Are you going to blow my synapses?"

"Is that what you're calling it these days?"

"Woah. So, it's time for Bad Girl's prison fantasy?"

"You wish!"

"You have no idea! Get ready to be scared- Oh, you think that's funny? Well, conjugate this- Okay, now you're just hurting my feelings..."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Why is Gingerbread the perfect man?"

"Is that what you're calling me these days?"

"He's quiet."

"Were you here five minutes ago?"

"He's sweet."

"Is that better than 'nice'?"

"And if he gives you any crap- "

"Oh, god, no arguing, please," he groaned into her ear. "I don't have the energy."

" -you can bite his head off."

"Dr Tancredi, you do have _the_ best bedside conversation."

"En coitus veritas...!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Protection  
Summary: Born to be wild. Ish....  
A/N: Sections in _italics_ occur a few weeks previously to the rest. Translations at story's end.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

_"Michael, do you realise what can happen? The kind of damage these things can do? I've seen– "_

_"I promise I'll be careful, Sara. Helmet, gloves, boots – all the gear."_

_She stood, undecided, her glance moving between him and his new toy. Well. Not new. Used. Pretty banged up, really–_

_"She's a beauty."_

_"Uh, yeah. Just what I was thinking..."_

___________________________________

Sara glanced at their faces – Pale, Anxious and Blank. Not quite the Three Stooges, but close. And not always. Sometimes they were the Three Musketeers. Which would make him, what? D'Artagnan? "It's okay, guys. Don't worry, he'll be fine."

They looked at her and nodded, not saying a word. Drank tepid coffee from paper cups. Waited quietly.

___________________________________

_"Oh-oh-oh, papi! What you got there?"_

_"Uncle Miiike!"_

_"She's a beauty, Michael – where'd you get her? "_

_"If you think Doc's gonna let you keep her, papi, you really _are _crazy...!"_

_"Just a granny-knot short of a strait-jacket, according to some."_

_"You said it, bro. Doc ain't gonna– "_

_"Yeah, she will. And I got her in a trade."_

_"Twenty bucks Doc says no."_

_"Twenty?! God, Dad, you are so cheap it's embarrassing! Make it forty and I'm in...."_

_"Can I borrow her?"_

_"Course you can, Fernando – nice to know somebody believes in my powers of persuasion."_

_"Michael," his friend said solemnly, "you survived two prisons without getting raped – you can do anything!"_

_"Ha! Bro, if you keep her, I know what you're _not_ gonna be doing – or who!"_

_Michael let his fingers do the talking, and headed off to the kitchen._

___________________________________

"So, what happened?"

"We're not sure, Sara," LJ shrugged. "I mean, we were riding along– "

"You were on it, too? Are you okay? Has anybody checked– "

"No, he wasn't on it, Doc," Linc interrupted quickly, frowning at his son. "He forgot his helmet, so Mike wouldn't let him. The three of us were riding in the car, and..." He paused, grimacing at the cold coffee.

"Where?"

"Beach. And– "

"Michael had on his helmet?"

"Yeah, like always! And we were, uh..."

"Testing the, you know...differences. Between them," LJ chimed in. "After Uncle Mike's new modifications. And then, there was this dog – came out of– "

"You were racing," she stated flatly.

"No!"  
"Yes..."  
"A little."

"You know, Sara, I gotta say we were _really_ surprised you let Michael keep her," Sucre reproached. "I couldn't believe it – I mean, motorbikes are _dangerous_!"

___________________________________

_"Come on, Sara," he spoke, softly, "haven't you ever wanted to ride a motorcycle? Straddle all that power?"_

_"Michael, I've straddled way bigger, more impressive things than that. Warm, powerful, the blood coursing through them. Awesome."_

_"Horses for courses – and this one's made of metal."_

_"Sure is. V65 Sabre?"_

_He sucked in his breath. "You know about bikes?"_

_"Maybe. A little." She'd been high on many of them, but she could still remember the thrill she'd felt, if not the rides themselves._

_Michael studied the look on her face. "I promise I'll always wear a helmet. When I'm on the road, anyway. Not the beach, obviously."_

_"Why not?"_

_"It's just sand– "_

_"Sand hides rocks. And you'd find them."_

_"Fine..." He sat on the bike. "Join me?"_

_She looked at him: jeans, white tee, aviators, tattoos. Leather or not, still a bad girl's wet dream. Yeah, she'd hop on that bike–_

_"Sara?"_

_"You might be able to persuade me," she crossed her arms. "We'll see. How'd you get it?"_

_"Her. And she was payment for a few favours."_

_"Do I need to know?"_

_"Probably not."_

_"Do I want to know?"_

_"Probably not."_

_Sara rolled her eyes. "How does she handle?"_

_"Oh, uh, not great – she's not really working. I've got to fix– "_

_"And you know how to?"_

_"Not exactly, but how hard can it be?" he asked, puzzled. "She's easy enough to dismantle and re-assemble, and if I get really stuck, I guess I can refer to the manual."_

_"Seriously? I thought it was against the 'man's code' to use those..."_

_"Hah! If I made a crack like that you'd been on me like a ton of bricks!"_

_"When the helmet fits..." she trailed off as he dismounted and crouched down, inspecting the engine. __Michael_ _ wouldn't need any manual, of course. _He_ could– Oh, crap. "Are you gonna be handling a lot of tools?"_

___________________________________

"Well, obviously, I wish I hadn't let him keep her, Fernando, but then hindsight's always 20/20." She paused. "You know, I don't remember hearing a lot of opposition from either you or LJ. In fact, was only Linc who kept– "

"Always put my brother's safety first."  
"Wasn't really our place to say."  
"Wouldn't want to interfere."

"Oh, please, like _that's_ ever mattered!" Face thoughtful, her gaze lit on each of them. "You had a bet going, didn't you?"

"No!"  
"As if!"  
"Maybe..."

"Unbelievable. Is there anything you won't bet on?"

"Not a lot."

"God, who needs kids when you've got– "

"You."

"Excuse me?"

"You do. And when you have some, don't mollycoddle them," Linc grunted.

"What, are you implying I mollycoddle _you_?"

"Not exactly, but you're very protective of us, 'specially Mike."

"Well, today proves why! Or are you okay with what happened?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, of course not!" he glared at her.

"He had on a helmet, Lincoln, and still– "

"It came off."

"Off? How could– "

"We don't know, but I'm sure Mike'll work it out." He sighed at the look in her eyes. "We get why you worry, but we're adults, Sara – we don't need wrapping up in cotton-wool."

"Yeah, you know, it's great you look out for us, Doc, but like Linc said, we're grown men – you worry too much. _'Vivir con miedo es vivir a medio'...."_

"Well, I'm not– " She glanced at them and sighed. "Fine, I get the message. Kids, though, Lincoln? Seriously? Hands off?"

"Not totally, just...you know, don't try to protect them from every frigging little thing that _might_ hurt them. For starters, you'd drive yourself crazy cause you just can't and– "

"Isn't that what parenting involves? Protection?"

"And teaching your kids responsibility? Preparing them to be independent?" He looked down. "Teaching them to survive."

"But what about keeping them from harm?"

"Doc, I'd die for my little girl, but I don't think that's what Linc means. You gotta let kids be kids, right, man?"

"Yeah, Sucre. Climbing trees, running around, playing in the street..."

"No way– "

"You know what I mean! So maybe they bust an arm, scrape their knees – so friggin' what?" He looked out the window. "Me and Mike...we never got to do a helluva lot of that when we were kids – the playing or the hurting."

"Really?" she asked thoughtfully. "Michael seems to have a high pain tolerance."

"Trust me, he didn't get that from scraped knees," Linc replied quietly. "Anyway, I'm just sayin' it's all part of growing up. Kids learn to be careful, pay attention, not make the same stupid mistakes again."

"You're talking about boundaries. And consequences."

"Whatever. And if they keep doing it, then you just give 'em a good smack upside the head."

"You don't– "

"You know, Sara," LJ cut in, quickly, "I broke my arm and my finger–scraped my knee down to the _bone–_but never any of them twice." He grinned. "Guess I also learnt not to fool around at Mom's, cause they all happened on Dad's watch! And, hey, look at me, no harm done..." he tailed off as they all stared at him in growing silence. "What?"

"I need coffee – anybody else?" Linc asked abruptly, and stood up.

"No, Dad, wait! I didn't mean– Shit...!"

___________________________________

_Watching him, she decided leather would be good. Very good. Hellishly hot, but what was the purpose of beauty if not to suffer for the masses? Wait, not masses. Make that minority. Of one._

_Glancing up, Michael caught the expression on her face. "Wanna go for a ride?" he smirked._

_"You said she wasn't working."_

_"Different ride, and its engine's running just fine."_

_"I've never known anybody go from 0 to 60 as fast as you do!"_

_"What can I say? You're my Castrol..."_

_"Wow. You know, as tempted as I am by the sheer romance of this moment, I must decline - I'm busy. And I'm sure you want to eat tonight, right?"_

_"Depends. You cooking?"_

_"Well, I definitely know what you _don't _want tonight."_

_"Hey, it not good for any engine to suddenly shift into reverse, you know" he called out, appreciating the view as she retreated._

_"Well, you know where you can always stick it, Michael – in neutral...!" She paused at the screen door and looked back. Realised he was already lost to her – his head down, staring intently, foot tapping at the chrome spokes. Huh. So much for born to be wild. __Born to be– No__, don't think– Crap, too late. There it was, stuck in her head. Always the songs you hate...._

___________________________________

They all got up as the attending approached. "_Está bien_, Señor Scofield will be fine. Would you like to visit him, now, Señora?"

"_Gracias, Doctor. Me diga más, por favor? También soy doctora,_" she explained, following him a short distance down the corridor.

"_Sí, como no. Pablo Quintero. ¿Y usted es Doctora Tancredi, no_?" At her look of surprise, he smiled. "The islands are small, word gets around. And I have known Esteban Ruiz since medical school. Anyway, your husband is resting right now. He's a lucky man – apart from the knock to his head, there does not seem to be anything serious, not even a broken bone. But I would like for him still to stay here tonight, maybe tomorrow. Did you come by launch? Ah, _aquí está_..."

Linc returned, shortly, armed with fresh coffee. "Where's Sara? Is Mike– "

"Fine, Dad, chill."

"He's in there," Sucre pointed towards the room. "Doc's just gone in."

They sipped their coffee to the background of murmurs coming from Michael's room. Listened more closely as the voices steadily rose:

"Sara! Goddammit, I'm lying in a frigging hospital bed– "  
"And it could've been a coffin! You promised you'd be careful– "  
"I was! The helmet– "  
"Don't you ever do this to me again, Michael, or so help me, I'll kill you! First this, and then– "  
" –came off– "  
" –Lincoln accuses me of mollycoddling!"

"I fucking did _not_!" Linc whispered, outraged.

" –and I don't know how– He what? Cuddling? Why the hell would– "  
"_Coddling_! What's wrong? Is it your hearing? Have– "  
"Yes, don't worry! And you know how Linc is– Oh, god, Sara, no, I'm sorry – please don't...."

In the ensuing quiet, the other three looked at each other, startled. Sara? Crying? No.... Doc didn't _cry_. Did she?

"Well. Fuck me. Dibs on the bike!"  
"No way!"  
"We won the bet!"

___________________________________

"Thanks. For letting me keep her."

"I'm not your mother, Michael."

He watched her lying next to him, thumbing through a magazine propped on her raised knees. "No, but still."

"You're a grown man – you make your own decisions."

Noticed as the turning of the pages slowed and became more deliberate. "Yeah, but if you'd really objected..." he offered carefully.

"It would've made a difference? Wow. Didn't realise I was in charge."

"Nobody's in charge, but where you go I tend to follow."

"Like a puppy bounding after its owner?"

He caught the slight quirk of her lips and started smiling. "How about consort following his queen, two steps behind?"

"Michael, any time I catch you walking behind me you're just checking out my butt."

"Not 'just', Sara – _also_. Walking _and_ checking – multi-tasking."

"A multi-tasking man?"

"Uh huh."

"Oxymoron defined."

"Proven misconception."

"The multi-tasking man? Yeah, I know."

"Not gonna win tonight, am I?"

"Define winning."

He grinned in response.

"You wish!"

"Absolutely."

"Sorry, not what the doctor ordered."

"I told you my hearing's fine, and he said nothing about– "

_"Ah, sí__, pero yo __también__ soy doctora – ¡que lástima, no!" _she smiled, kissing his cheek.

"So, no michaelcuddling?"

"Nope, just Michael _sleeping_." She turned out the light and settled down.

"You know, I could just– "

"Michael."

" –lie here, and you do all– Ow!"

"Oh, god, sorry, I didn't mean to– "

"No, no, I'm fine, it's okay – I'm a big boy, remember?"

"Oh, that's right."

"Course, you could always kiss and make it better– OW! Okay, now _that_ you meant," he grinned, rubbing hard. "You know, I'm just not feeling the love here – maybe my oil filter needs changing..."

* * *

End notes:

(1) – 'A life lived in fear is a life half-lived.'  
(2) – Thank you, Doctor. Can you tell me more? I'm a doctor, too.  
(3) – Yes, of course. Paul Quintero. And you're Dr Tancredi, right?  
(4) – Yes, but I'm a doctor, too – what a shame, eh!


End file.
